Anya Barton Book One: It Starts with a Letter
by crossMIRAGE19
Summary: "Please tell me you don't come from a Mental Institution," the visit of an old man throws an orphan girl's life out of the loop. Anya knew she wasn't alone, but to discover who you are is the greatest adventure she could ever live. Hogwarts was now her home, but like always, there's going to be a lot of bumps on the road.
1. The Start of a Test

**Rewrite completed.**

* * *

"_Born from light, blessed by darkness… no one knows what her choice will be… a fork lays in the path of her life… will it be love? Or will she succumb to hatred among the thorns of perdition?"_

* * *

People say each story always starts with a beginning. But contrary to all, mine begins with the tragedy of a man.

Severus Snape was completely stunned. His state had nothing to do with the ongoing battle around him. His gaze was focused on only one thing – or rather, person.

A scarlet-haired woman was kneeling on the floor. Her sobs were barely audible, as the cries of spells ate away every sound. Her blue robes contrasted drastically with her pale skin color, just as her red hair did. The small amount of light on the place allowed Severus to see the golden seams of the fabric. But still, he did not focus on the woman.

"Alec! Alec, please! Wake up, you have to wake up!" whispered the woman.

The object of his attention was the man who lay unconscious in front of her.

Alec Barton had always been a good man. His raven hair gave him a dark touch to his personality, but what drew a person to him were his eyes. Severus still remembered the first time those pair of hazel eyes had looked at him. It made him think like he was _someone_. Like if for the first time, he was _cared_ for.

Lily Evans used to joke about it and say that with one look at those pair of puppy eyes, even the most miserable man on earth could felt the feeling of being someone important.

And it hurt Severus greatly to see that none of that was there. Alec was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes blank of every emotion.

He was dead.

Severus nearly fell onto his knees, had he not grasped the pillar behind him.

BANG!

The wall behind the red-haired woman exploded. Severus glimpsed the Longbottom couple being hauled by a trio of wizards. The three of them wore oval brooches. Two of them had green ones with small teardrops with a circle inside them and the other was amber colored with a V with three stars on one side. A woman had kneeled on the ground before a bundle of a blue blanket, and he vaguely recalled that the Longbottoms had brought their son for safety.

The remembrance of how that ended made Severus snort.

And it made him stop short.

If Alec and the scarlet haired woman were both here, then –

For the first time, he reacted.

Running like if his life depended on it – never mind that! A life depended on it!

Dodging debris and spells, Snape ran through the entire Cathedral. Benches made him trip more than once, and his black robes were ripped from one of the rotten pieces.

Once he neared to where the Main Altar was, Severus' breath hitched at the sight.

A woman with wild curly hair once giving him her back, but Severus could see the wand on her hand. And he was sure the curse she intended to use was ready on her lips.

"AVADA KED –"

"_Flipendo_!" he already had his wand pointed at her.

The woman screamed in outrage once she was thrown aside. The spell had made her flew to over a wall, knocking her out at the impact.

The Death Eaters apparently noticed their leader had been clearly overcome as most of the lot Apparated from the place.

The battle had ended, even if just four men had stayed to fight. The youngest of them managed to kill a witch, whom wore a brooch like the others. The difference was, instead of the last two, it was blue and had a small pentagram with wings.

Lowering his wand, Severus ran to the first small steps up, kneeling in the next to last, avoiding to crush what he was looking at.

A tiny body curled itself on the blue blanket under it. Red angry tears ran down the cherub face of the little girl. Her short dark brown curls were blood smeared like her layette was.

The baby opened her eyes a little, and Severus found himself staring at blue icy eyes. Time before, he would have turned his head in disgust, but now… they were sad. _Defeated_. The life was leaving from them. How could a year old infant held so much sadness inside?

His thoughts came to a stop when he noticed everything had gone quiet. Only the sound of footsteps echoed up until the sound reached the ceiling. Swiftly moving his head to the side, he saw the scarlet-haired woman from before heading towards where he knelt. She didn't even try to clean the marks of tears on her cheeks.

Wavering on her step, she decided to kneel across from Severus, the baby now in the middle of the two adults.

The woman reached a hand to her own locket, the same that the murdered witch had been wearing. Pulling it out of its place, she put it above the baby girl's heart.

"You don't have to do it," Severus muttered. "He told you to no _meddle_ with fate."

The woman lifted her head proudly; a pair of blue-green eyes stared at him grimly.

"Well," her voice was hoarse from all the shouting she had done. "Alec forgot I can make my own decisions."

"What about –"

"It's been taken care," she interrupted him.

Her eyes softened.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I really am."

* * *

"She can go with the Malfoys."

The flames on the fireplace creaked silently. Severus watched with sorrow how this man stared coldly at him. There was no twinkle behind the half-moon spectacles.

"It wouldn't be the wisest choice," he answered him.

Snape glared at the old man. Albus Dumbledore had a knack to get a rise out of him… even if he didn't demonstrate it most of the time.

"Then send her to the Tonks!" snapped Severus. "Last I heard about them, Andromeda was trying to conceive a child."

Dumbledore shook his head. Standing from his chair, he walked towards one of the portraits, which was empty at the moment. His purple cloak billowed behind him. The silver hair gleamed against the moon's light coming from one of the top windows.

"Albus… this mustn't be one of your tests…"

"Like I said before, Severus, the decision has been made," the Headmaster said carefully. "Ms. Rosenberg is going to be with her at some point. There's no need to worry."

Closing his eyes, Severus gritted his teeth in anger.

"You _are_ going to test her, aren't you? Just to see if she makes the same choices as _he_ did!"

Dumbledore didn't answer him. He walked over to his cabinet, where a stoned basin waited for him. Tapping his wand against his temple, the Professor extracted a long thin silver thread. He placed it on the silvery substance on the basin, and watched the recent conversation repeat before his eyes.

* * *

A week later, Severus found himself standing on the street, with rain pouring on his head. He could have put himself to an Impervious charm, had he not been too focused on the task.

Severus had asked Dumbledore to do it himself, since he didn't trust anybody - not even that half-breed Lupin (worse, having been friends with _Black_).

A soft sigh called his attention, making him to instinctively glance down. Severus was almost startled to find big hazel eyes staring curiously at him. The tiny fist was clutching tightly the sleeve of his robe, and he had to remover her hand careful of his force.

With what appeared to be a bored look, he glanced across the street, his eyes settling on the sign above the gates. "_St. Louise's Orphanage._"

His mouth curled in disgust.

It wasn't difficult to get past the closed gates. One tap of his wand, and next thing he knew, he was kneeling in the doorstep of the building. It remarkably reminded Severus of one of the Muggle schools around. Was it Smeltings? He wasn't interested enough to try and remember.

Thankfully for his guilty mind, there was a small roof in the entrance, protecting any bystander from the falling water. Sighing, he let himself gaze at the baby once more, and then he swept out of sight, Apparating on the spot.

Severus Snape didn't stay to watch the little baby girl crying out for her mother. He didn't witness, a few hours later, an awake woman whose annoyance turned into shock when she found the baby, surprisingly dry.

He didn't stay to watch as the woman found a spare piece of parchment between the tiny body and its blanket, mouthing silently the words proclaiming the girl's name.


	2. Mrs Darcy's Memories

From the very moment that creature entered through the doors of _St. Louise's_, Eleanor Darcy knew what the girl was.

A _freak_.

Like any baby newcomer, she had been placed on a room were all the children under three years old slept lived. It was normal for them to cry nearly at every hour two at the time. But the girl never opened her mouth for anything than eating.

But as time passed, Mrs. Darcy thought that perhaps she had overreacted. Her silence was a little unnerving, but it could be changed. Maybe that girl could become one of her future brilliants pupils. And – as a mere hopeful illusion – she could be her substitute for the institute (Darcy refused to call it "_Orphanage_") when the time for retirement came.

But the brat then did something no one expected.

It was one of the fieldtrips in which all the girls were taken on a tour over all possibly Surrey as a congratulations gift for being so well behaved. As rare as it was, Darcy actually enjoyed these trips.

During this time, the "girl" still was normal. And for some strange reason, she had the ability to get on with all of her companions. One of her assistants at the time - was it Mabelle or Margaret? – had said that the answer was her eyes. The girl's eyes were a usual hazel, but Mrs. Darcy reluctantly admitted that he brat could convince the most bitter man talk to her.

But as stated before, Mrs. Darcy was a witty person. She wasn't easy to bend, and less by a brat!

While Mrs. Darcy drank from one of her famous cups of black coffee, she observed the garden of the park they were in, enjoying the view for the first time in many years. It seemed like everything was going exactly like she wanted to.

Then someone shouted so loudly, managing to make her jump from her seat, spitting and throwing her beloved beverage all over her lap. Unfortunately, the coffee was made recently, and the heat made her scream more loudly than the little girl.

"Why in the demons you did that?! Why all the fuss?!" her face had turned a violent shade of red, but still, Mrs. Darcy refused to lose all common sense for a stupid child.

The girl who had shouted, another of her wonderful pupils, was pointing to where she came from, right to where a cherry orchard took place. Darcy frowned. She didn't remember seeing it when they arrived, but she shook the thought away.

"Mrs. Darcy," panted Carol Davis, one of the newest arrivals to her Institute. Both her father, a famous entrepreneur in the car business, and her mother, a dedicated house designer, had died on a tragic car accident a year ago. The six year old girl hadn't more relatives, and without choice, she had been sent to _St. Louise's_ – not that Mrs. Darcy complained.

"It's Anya! She – she –"

"Speak clear, girl!" Snapped Mrs. Darcy.

"It would be better if you see it with your own eyes, ma'am!"

Despite her anger, Mrs. Darcy decide to follow little Carol. She needed to blame someone, and what better choice than the Anya brat? Besides, it was her fault Darcy hadn't finished her coffee.

Panting and feeling rather breathless, Mrs. Darcy finally stopped at the top of a small hill. The cherry orchard was smaller than she had thought. Searching her glasses inside her bag, the matron looked for the guilty girl all over the place. From the corner of her eyes, she saw something odd and –

Mrs. Darcy cried out a lot of curses no one understood, but the girls followed her gaze and they all screamed and ran from there.

It was the first time _St. Louise's_ was a complete chaos.

A girl – no older than four – with dark short brown hair had an Eastern Garter snake tangled on her arm. Thrillingly, she seemed to be _talking_ to the large animal.

Since then, Mrs. Darcy hadn't let little Anya join them on another fieldtrip, or any way of travel. None of the girls talked to her anymore, too scared if they made her angry, they could possibly end with a dangerous animal under their beds. The fear had become too unbearable for all of them, and Mrs. Darcy had no choice but isolate her from all of them. With a few clothes and thin old blankets, Anya had been sent to permanently sleep at the top room – which was the attic.

Darcy wasn't going to let that change. If Anya represented any form of threat to her beloved Institute, Eleanor Darcy was going to make sure to remove the rarity out of her._ No matter the costs._

* * *

If Mrs. Darcy thought the surprises ended there, let me tell you, she was very wrong on that assumption.

The rain had fallen harder that day. With thunders and lightning bolts, _St. Louise's_ had the unfortunate luck of losing their electricity. It had been crucial, as all the little ones had a rare fear to dark spaces. Darcy was lacking employees at the moment, making her order to the older girls to take care of the younger ones.

Still, the day turned bitter until _she_ arrived.

So far until now, every girl who witnessed the arrival of the _scarlet woman_ could not describe in words what her presence brought that day. Many said she had been sent by God; other theory was that she secretly was a fairy disguised as a human; one of the youngest children had joked the possibility of her being a magical being; and little Anya had once commented she was a witch. Most of the girls had rolled their eyes, and Carol Davis had announced loudly the only witch in there was her.

Sadder because she had been once more rejected, little Anya returned to her attic, her small shoulders shaking from depriving her tears.

No one had noticed the small sparkle of mischief on the newcomer's eyes.

Claiming she needed a place to sleep, the woman had paid her stay by doing all the complicated jobs. To Mrs. Darcy, she had become a miracle. She had helped them to take care of the kitchen duties, the cleaning on the building, not to forget she had the ability to calm the children.

"You must really come from up there," said Mrs. Darcy at the end of the week. With her eyes set on the roof, she shook her head, scolding herself for her silliness and asked: "How rude of me! You had been three days here and I still don't know your name, girl!"

Smiling calmly at the old woman, the scarlet woman replied:

"Natasha Rosenberg, ma'am. And I would like to help you by working here."

No one – not even Mrs. Darcy – knew the reason why she so suddenly wanted to be there. As it was becoming common, the girls speculated a whole lot of theories: that she had been escaping from the London's police: that her lover abandoned her and she wanted to leave everything behind: and the gossip of her being God-sent was spread once again.

Mrs. Darcy didn't care, as long as Rosenberg did the heavy job her other employees didn't want to realize, she had no problem at all.

But as time passed, Mrs. Darcy just only regretted one thing, and that was letting Natasha Rosenberg met little Anya.


	3. Life on St Louise's

**I conveniently listened **People Like Us** by Kelly Clarkson when I wrote this chapter.**

**I sadly don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does.**

* * *

_Anya's POV_

_I stared horrified at Ms. Rosenberg. I never intended for someone to notice, it just happened! I swear!_

"_It just happened," I breathed. "I swear!"_

_Ms. Rosenberg eyed my frightened stance thoughtfully. I blushed in embarrassment and avoided looking at her face at any cost. She had the prettiest eyes I had ever seen: a mixed shade of grayish blue with jade green, if my crayons' names didn't lie to me. But that just made her gaze to be more penetrating._

_Silently, Ms. Rosenberg coked up an eyebrow, and raised the palm of her hand up._

_Shaking with fear, I put both my hands (which were too tiny, so they did it) on hers and let the object fall in there. It felt like a small flower: it had been a flower._

_I quickly took my hands away, and let my chin hit my collarbone. I already knew what she would see, and it only would spread more harshly the rumors of me being a freak._

_I didn't want all the girls of St. Louise's to know they were right all along. That as much as I wished it to be true, I wasn't normal._

"_Tell me Anya," the woman started slowly. I didn't hear malice in her voice: just keen curiosity. Feeling encouraged, I lifted my head. Ms. Rosenberg was staring down at her palm with an unreadable expression. "How did you – _transfigure_ this?"_

_It was pretty obvious it had been a cherry blossom. It still was the same size and color – but it was partly split into a half – and it was moving those parts up and down, like if they were wings._

_I had transformed a flower into a butterfly._

_And I had done it in front of one of the employees._

_My body was trembling, and it had nothing to do with my lack of clothes on my legs and arms. There was a high possibility of her giving me away with Darcy. Ms. Rosenberg has Mrs. Darcy practically wrapped around her finger and –_

_Ms. Rosenberg _smiled_ at _me_. Confused, I watched as she knelt in front of me. Looking directly at my eyes (embarrassed, I sorted myself to better watch her hands); she passed her other hand above the laying still butterfly._

_I gasped._

_There was no butterfly or cherry blossom. Instead, a lotus flower had replaced it. The white edges shone with water sparkles, making it seem like a diamond stone. Before I could figure out more details, she closed her hand into a fist, and then opened it again. The flower was gone._

"_How?" I whispered tearfully. "I thought I was alone."_

_How was it possible? How did she do it? Wasn't I the only one with these abilities? Were they more of us? Or we are the only ones?_

_As if hearing my internal voice, Ms. Rosenberg laid a hand on my shoulder. It surprised me how similar the color of our skin was._

"_You're not alone, Anya. Not anymore."_

* * *

I was six years old back then. Recalling that time, I never fully realized how lonely I truly felt. Had it not been for Natasha, I think I would have gone mad at some point.

Natasha had not told me what we were in that time.

"You're not ready. Not _now_," she had said cryptically. And amazingly enough, she still holds the secret to her heart.

With her help, my big empty room (I live in an attic) became more bearable to live in. Natasha brought objects I denominate as the "girly stuff" the other girls in St. Louise's had. Our biggest advantage was the fact that the attic itself already had a lot of furniture and objects that Mrs. Darcy had abandoned in here for years. I noticed even the most broken thing could be repaired – if you try it, of course!

We threw away the old ripped mattress I used to sleep on, and replaced it with a large red hammock, tying it to the posts attached to the triangular ceiling. It was placed beside the large circular window on the nearest wall that faced the entrance gates of the Orphanage.

I later found a broken wall mirror hidden between the old funny smelling trunks in the farthest corner of the attic (I must add, the whole attic is the size of the entire _St. Louise's_ building, but only a small part was cleaner and void for me to use), and I decorated it with posters Natasha brought me from musical bands or theater shows, and, occasionally, I add drawings. They are mostly of things I see on my dreams, so they aren't essentially understandable. But my favorite one definitely was of a pair of green eyes I once day-dreamed. It just came to my mind, I swear!

Electricity hadn't been installed up here because it wasn't necessary – or when Darcy came, she did it with daylight shining from the windows. During this time, I couldn't see where what was in certain places, making me trip and end with scratches on my knees, and as a reminder, I still have some faint purple bruises on them. Natasha apparently took pity on my dilemma, because the next week after she tended my cuts, she brought a box with white Christmas lights, and tangled them on the handle staircase that lead up to the attic. The intensity of the lights lit up most of the room.

It was really a sight to behold.

* * *

"_ANYA!"_

_I jumped in fright, ducking my head and putting my body on my petty drawings. It had become a tradition to molest me in every chance they got. It was a bit pathetic that even the call of my name made me jump in fright._

_Looking up from my elbow, I saw a tall older girl with blond hair and blue eyes heading toward where I cowered. Anyone who saw us wouldn't have been able to notice we both belonged to the same place._

_Carol Davis always wore designer clothes – or I thought they were. Her appearance was those of one who belonged to the high society, and I had heard she did before her parents died. I on the other hand, used ragged old clothes which belonged to old children that had inhabited our "home" before us. As much as Natasha tried to sew the holes on them, it was quite obvious I wasn't in the most fairly situation of all the girls._

"_Wha – what?" I said. My body had gone stiff, undoubtedly waiting for one of the pranks they tossed so mercilessly at me. I still remembered what they had done on my eighth birthday: they had given me a box, stating it was a gift, and when I opened it, a lot of spiders crawled into my arms. _

_Since then, I could barely look at the spiders in the attic without shuddering. The feeling of their hairy legs… all of them crawling into your arms…_

"_We wanted to try something we learned on history class today," Carol said. All the girls on _St. Louise's _were taught certain classes before they could be sent to the nearby schools like Smelting's or Stonewall. It depended if you had annoyed Mrs. Darcy, you would be send to Stonewall without another word. There was no doubt my name was already on the list._

"_And?"_

"_We wondered if you would like to join us?" she asked. I was sure I was gaping like a fish, but Carol just smiled serenely. They – they never, _EVER_, asked me to play with them anymore. Not since the snake incident. Was it possible that they had forgotten and forgiven?_

_I dint even notice I was shaking my head vigorously up and down._

_In my bliss state, I didn't notice Carol turn her head and smirk at her friends._

_Moments later, I was being blindfolded by Jenna, another older girl with red hair – but not as vividly as Natasha's._

"_What do I do, then?" I asked Carol… wherever she was._

"_Well, as you know, we have been seeing the Japanese culture this month," I nodded. "The game is simple. We sing, and you have to guess who is behind you as the lyrics end."_

"_Ok –okay," I mumbled. It was somewhat fishy, but I wanted them to really like me, so I didn't question them._

How stupid of me.

"_When you are ready, Anya," called the blond girl. I gave them the thumbs up._

"_Circle you, Circle you  
__Please don't try to run from us,"_

_I could feel them surrounding me. The heat of their bodies was too close for my comfort._

"_Circle you, circle you__  
__What games will we play, can I guess?"_

_Dread began to form in the pitch of my stomach. Their voices sounded… mocking._

"_Before the moon sets again__  
__You can play with us until then!__  
__Circle you, circle you__  
__Who surrounds you everywhere?"_

_They stopped moving, but the bad feeling didn't go away. It only intensified._

_Then someone pushed me._

"_Jenna!" I gasped. Someone giggled, and I was pushed to another way again._

"_Cindy!"_

_And it continued that way: the pushed me in their small circle. My body ached of pain, but I think my heart was more hurt than that. They were giggling for my misfortune, their voices taunting me._

"_Why someone would have played with you, Anya?" I heard one of them screech. _

"_No wonder your parents didn't want you!"_

"_What a monster!" "So abnormal!" "What a freak!"_

"_Freaky Ann, Freaky Ann, Freaky Ann!"_

_I covered my ears, and knelt on the floor defeated. I couldn't stop listening to their voices, though. _Freaky Ann, Freaky Ann… why do you hide from us?

"_Stop it," I sobbed. "Please, shut up!"_

"_Who surrounds you, freaky Ann?"_

"_SHUT UP!"_

* * *

I couldn't trust anyone since then. I didn't talk unless I was asked to. Natasha was the only companion I had on _St. Louise's_, and I preferred it that way.

No grown-up who came to adopt wanted me. Mrs. Darcy always managed to convince them I wasn't right on my mind, and they always believed her. They didn't change on their minding, even when Natasha tried to assure them I was a "sweet girl".

I avoided those meetings at any cost.

I wasn't happy. But I pretty much preferred it when it was just Natasha and I. people like us had to stick together.

Or that's what I thought until a faithful 23th of June. A week before my eleventh birthday.


	4. Zoo trip

"Come again?"

Natasha sighed as she sat on the new rug she bought me on a yard sale a month ago. Tracing the flowery patterns on it, she raised her voice a little more and repeated what she told me seconds ago.

"I said you are going to the Zoo trip St. Louise's plans to do tomorrow."

I could practically feel my two eyebrows rise in bewilderment at the statement.

"Mrs. Darcy banned me from going with them since –"

"– the snake accident. Yes, I know," Natasha said exasperatedly.

"Then why the sudden change? Darcy is too paranoid when I come up in every conversation, and stop the press! Eleanor Darcy, Director of the_ St. Louise's Orphanage_ had a change of heart, and it's letting Anya "the brat" come with them on a fieldtrip! To a Zoo, no less!" I ranted.

"Now, who's the paranoid?" my red-haired friend sighed, tapping her chin.

"Well –sorry if I sound dramatic, but you must understand – this behavior is surely strange," I said in mock gasp.

Natasha smirked. "Are you quite finished?"

I thought-faked about it.

"Yes, I think so."

"Don't be too pessimist about this," she told me softly. "Think of it as a birthday gift."

You may be wondering how I knew when my birthday was. You see, one of the greatest advantages of being Natasha's friend gave me the complete knowledge of when and in what situations avoid Mrs. Darcy. But I think the greatest of them was when Natasha found a file about me, with the day I was born written on it, and so my surname was in there. Not wanting Natasha to get in problems (or gain myself a punishment), I didn't dare to mention it aloud: the walls had ears everywhere.

"You convinced her, didn't you?" I groaned as I sat Indian style on my small bureau.

Natasha closed the space between us by kneeling in front of me, putting her hand on my cheek. Even after years of getting used to her eyes, they still made me feel uncomfortable. The idea about her being able to see through me never got away.

"The least I can do is this."

I shook my head.

"You already have done enough for me."

* * *

Scoffing, I glanced at myself on my broken mirror.

"It itches," I whispered in mortification.

Today was a very common Sunday morning. And with the Sun blazing over the horizon, it had to be the perfect day for a fieldtrip, specially the Zoo.

The girls on _St. Louise's_ always wore a uniform to represent from where we come. Personally, I think Mrs. Darcy only wanted to brag her "brilliant" students to all Surrey.

I remember being jealous of Carol and her gang when they wore the classical green jacket with the beige skirt and perfectly polished black shoes. It had to be the most expensive thing I had seen on my short life, and like every kid, I naturally wanted it.

Using it now, I realized it was more complicated – _and itchy_ – than I had thought.

With a sigh, I started to comb my short hair into something presentable. It had been waist long two months ago, but I had fallen asleep on the kitchens and one of the girls must have thought it was funny, because when I woke up, I found bubblegum stuck on my hair. Natasha tried to remove it with ice and cold water. It didn't work so well, and she sadly had to cut almost all of it. I had looked like a mop, but thankfully it had grown quickly it almost reached my shoulder blades by now.

With tired eyes, I began to tie the green tie around my neck. It looked like a mess inside, but who will be watching besides me?

Almost ready, I glared down at my hand, which was clutching a ridiculous green cap.

"I'm not going to wear you."

* * *

While the other girls boarded the yellow bus, Mrs. Darcy stopped me with a sour look, and said to me in what appeared to be a menacing tone:

"I may have permitted you to come with us this time, girl," for the effect, she squeezed tightly my arm and I grimaced. "But remember, any funny business, any action you do which may embarrass the institute," she glared fiercely, "I will make sure you don't see the sun's light, _ever_. Understood?"

Biting back a retort, I nodded briskly.

"Good. Get in."

* * *

As predicted, the day had a beautiful weather for all those families who came. All the girls gushed on their seats or either looked through the windows as if the cars were the mayor attraction.

The ride on the bus had to be the worst torture I had lived so on. Yells ran through the vehicle once in a while. "Do I look beautiful?", "Are we there yet?", "Not again, Shelly!", "QUIET!"

Rolling my eyes the whole time, I resorted myself to silently stare at the window. I had sat on the back of the bus and no one had wanted to follow me. The corner was almost silent because the seats in front and by my left were empty.

Still staring, I noticed a small car arrive besides us. Stepping out, a large man with an equally large mustache appeared. His face was huge and purple. Following him was a thin woman with an appearance of a horse and a huge boy with blond hair. To me he looked like a whale, or it could be a pig. To his side was a tall and skinny boy with a face that remarkably resembled a rat. All of them looked rather pompous to me.

The huge boy closed his side of the door and sniggered alongside his companion, which made me felt confused for a moment until the door opened again. A small skinny boy stepped out rubbing his head and glaring at the door as if it had been its fault. His black hair went everywhere, and I fleetingly thought of Albert Einstein's hair. Adjusting his round glasses (held by Scotch tape), I mesmerized stared at his eyes. They looked like real emerald stones, and I wondered if he was related to fairies of any sort.

He looked across the parking to all the bypassing families and my heart went out for him. Was he an orphan like me? By the state of his clothes (which looked very old like mine) I could say I was right.

"Get on formation, girl!" snapped Mrs. Darcy as she hauled me to my feet.

Before I was thrown away, I looked back a last time. The boy was being hauled by the large man.

I had the urge to giggle about how similar our situations were.

* * *

Besides the fact I was constantly being pushed and pinched by Carol's gang, I can admit the day didn't go bad.

Most of the time I stayed on the back of the group, trying to making it look like I wasn't with them, but not too far to get lost.

I was very much surprised when Mrs. Darcy bought me a strawberry ice cream like the other girls, but then I noticed that all the families were looking curiously at us. And later saw her talking proudly with a couple.

Turning away from them, I started to lick my cone as I watched a gorilla scratching its head. It looked remarkably like the fat boy I saw before, except that it wasn't blond.

I should have noticed it was too good to be true.

After lunch we went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone.

I was staring at a giant chameleon when suddenly people started screaming and running madly: away from the Reptile's house.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I decided to go and investigate. But before I could give more than two steps, my body froze at what I saw. A large – forget that – a very _big_ python was gliding towards where I was. Panic started to rise on me, but I couldn't move. Was it poisonous? Would it crush me? Because it seemed more likely it would crush me by just wrapping once around my body.

Then the most shocking thing happened.

_"Brazil, Brazil, Brazil…."_

I had to blink nearly a hundred times. The snake…was chanting…Brazil?

The accident with the Easter Garter snake six years ago came to my mind. I still held the memory freshly on mind, but I thought… I thought I only had imagined it. I thought I had fantasized the conversation with the snake, as I felt I needed an imaginary friend at the time. I pushed everything in that moment in the back of all my head – to the endless dark pitch of my memory… and it resurface once the python's eyes fell on me.

"_Hellooo thereee_…"

My jaw hung open.

"_Could you be ussseful and tell me where the exit isss?"_

Blinking confusedly, I only did what it first came to my head.

"That way," I pointed to my right, where you could see the light of the sun entering the cold place.

"_Thanksss," _the snake hissed and passed by my feet, only making the crowd yell more frightened than before.

"Anytime," I said, but the snake was already sliding across the entrance hole.

I vaguely heard the keeper of the Reptile house exclaim, "But the glass, where did the glass go?"

But I was entirely focused on the old woman with her black eyes making holes into my forehead: all the girls of St. Louise's were cowering behind her, and I suddenly realized I still was pointing to the hall.

"It asked for directions," was my lame excuse, and it only managed to make Mrs. Darcy flare up her nostrils in anger. Her face had turned completely red in rage I could swear I saw smoke coming out of her ears.

I was completely sure she was going to hold her promise at any cost.


	5. I Hate You

Mrs. Darcy had locked me down in the basement of the building during four days in a row, had it not been for Natasha who returned from her short vacations and demanded to let me free.

Darcy, downright furious, had threatened to fire her, but Natasha kindly reminded her, what she had done to me was – apparently – Child Abuse, and if she didn't want the authorities to know, Darcy had to do what she had asked… err – _ordered_.

Unfortunately, Darcy had still power over me, and needing something to satisfy her, she had me locked up on my attic, and without food. Natasha always managed to sneak some food for me in one of the wholes I had made on the side of the door in case of emergency.

The day before my birthday arrived and I couldn't help but feel as if I was the most depressed girl on the world. For all I knew, I could be.

Traditionally, all the girls on the Orphanage were given a small party celebrating the day they arrived on St. Louise's as a way of the start of a new life… or it sounded like that. Already stated before, Darcy and – in fact, let's just shorten it to this: Natasha was the only one who didn't hate me. Bless her soul, the "scarlet woman" came to my rescue and as a gift, baked a small birthday cake (it was more like the size of a muffin, seeing as there wasn't enough space to sneak it in) with a candle on it. The redhead ordered to not light the candle until it was midnight. And I was going to obey her: Natasha had a knack of knowing when things happen, and it had often saved and gotten me on trouble. Bit scary, if you ask me.

Waiting until it was twelve o'clock, I tried to do something and distract me for the whole day. I played hanged (it doesn't work if you play it like a solitary game), played solitary (it got a bit lonely and boring), dressed up with the uniform of the Orphanage and feigned I was a tourist through all the attic (I got lost and unfortunately found spiders on my way), and after all of that, I decided to try and start drawing. A skill I still hadn't mastered well enough and decided to leave after a rather mean fight between Darcy and I. Curious thing is that, strangely, I don't remember what exactly the _reason_ was.

Two hours passed by, and my hammock was full of paper balls. Three more hours and the floor was in the same state, with me sitting on the bureau. Another pair of hours, and I had only drawn a decent garden. I decided to stick it to the mirror.

I ate the candies I had bought on the Zoo (Natasha had given me a small allowance) but my stomach started to hurt, making me to stop eating them.

Natasha didn't return for the rest of the day that morning, and I wasn't surprised. Or either Mrs. Darcy gave her a bunch of chore with the knowledge that my redhead friend always came to see me, or Natasha had already left to her home. I often wondered what did she do outside the Orphanage, but I was too grateful to her and it seemed a little improper to ask (in other words, _demand_).

Before I actually noticed, there were three minutes left for midnight.

Hopeful and suddenly encouraged, I made a quick recount of everything I needed. It was ridiculous, but I wanted to make sure I had both the mini-cake with a candle and the matchsticks were ready at hand.

One minute left.

I lighten up the candle and I let the cake rest on my rug.

_Ten seconds…._

_Five seconds…_

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One…_

I sigh.

"Happy Birthday Annie," I whispered.

I looked out at the window. The stars were shining brightly on the –amazingly – clear night.

_Make a wish._

"I wish… I wish… I wish everything changes…"

I blew up the candle, and I was left in darkness.

Had I looked over the window once more, I would have been able to see a shooting star passing by.

* * *

I woke up with a sickening feeling on my stomach. Eating the cake hadn't done well to my body, and it didn't help I had been eating candies all yesterday.

With a groan, I realized I had fallen asleep on the wooden floor. I grunted moodily. I wasn't even on the rug! At least not a single spider had made its way to where I was.

Standing up, I wiped out the dust from my pants. Rubbing my eyes, I went towards my hammock and the handmade calendar on the wall called my attention.

_July 1__st_

I was officially eleven years old. The thought made me sigh. Was it relief? Was it dread because I was completely sure nothing was going to change?

Rough knocks broke me out of my reverie.

* * *

"Now girl, I have no choice on the matter but…."

Mrs. Darcy paced in front of me like if she were a general going on to a war. With her best black suit, blue blouse and black high-heeled shoes, she talked and talked as if she were a recorded videotape.

From what I understood, next week was "Parents' Day", meaning that wealthy couples would be coming to see and adopt a girl. I hated that day with such a passion: the lot of them were all snobs. Too superstitious, too _judgmental_.

Of course, this is from _MY_ point of view.

Mrs. Darcy particularly disliked it when I was around since I was little, so instead, she sent me to the kitchens to "do something worthy". Although she was mad, she decided her "Institute" was more important than her rage against me.

"Do you _understand_?" demanded Darcy. I nodded, stopping the roll of my eyes.

So here I was, washing the porcelain dishes besides Virginia – one of the assistants to the Orphanage.

"Where's Natasha?" I asked her.

A little surprised, I realized over time that I could have a proper conversation with the other assistants who worked here without scaring them to death: that was Darcy's doing. She puts them to overwork with a small salary, and none of them lasted much. Except for Natasha, who has recently completed five years working here.

"She called in sick," she whispered, seeing Mrs. Darcy enter the kitchen. Once she retired, Virginia went on, "Told the Ma'am she was going to return in ten days."

"Ten days!" I said, shock coloring my voice. Virginia shushed me, and I continued with a lower tone. "But what does she have?"

Virginia shrugged. "I didn't hear enough."

"GET WORKING, YOU LAZY BUNCH!" screamed Darcy suddenly behind us. We both jumped startled and set off to work. Smiling satisfied, Mrs. Darcy turned on her heels and went to yell at the ones decorating the Guest room.

Rolling my eyes, I started to wash the silverware.

* * *

"Hey, Anya!"

I ignored the annoying voice, continuing to sweep the floor with the broom. I was on one of the hallways from the second floor of the Orphanage, and lucky for me, this was the last part I needed to clean and then off to my room.

"Oooh, An –ny –aa!"

I gripped my broom tightly, deciding to ignore her.

"HEY! Pay attention, Freaky Ann!"

Gritting my teeth, I wondered if whacking Carol Davis on the face would gain me a severe punishment.

"What do you want Carol?" I grumbled, sweeping more forcefully the broom on the floor.

She snickered. Flipping her blond hair over her shoulder, she instantly appeared in front of me. Her blue eyes were glinting with the all familiar malice I was used to.

"No, Anya. The question is… what do _you_ want from me?"

Bewilderment shone on my face. I let out a laugh resembling a bark.

"Ha! Me? Wanting something from you, Carol?" I raised an eyebrow. "I think you need to check that head of yours with a Doctor, before all _St. Louise's_ comes to the conclusion I infected you with my weirdness."

"Ah, Ann," she sighed wistfully. "So funny of you to remembrance your madness. But, I must say you are wrong with the assumption." From the inside of her blue dress, she pulled out a thick envelope made of yellowish parchment.

And with emerald-green ink, it said on bold letters:

_To Miss Anya Barton. _

My eyes widened.

"Now, I didn't know you had a surname," said Carol smugly. "I first thought it was addressed to another girl, but then again, you're the only _Anya_ on this place."

I ignored her. With the envelope still on her hand, I stared hard at the name.

_Barton._

Someone else besides Natasha knew my name. This couldn't have been sent from her, seeing as she would have given it to me by hand. But who? Who knew my name's Barton? And what it does contain that envelope?

I made a grab for it, but she snatched it quickly.

"So I was right," she whispered with fake wonder. "This was sent for you." She was palming the envelope with an almost loving expression.

"Give it Carol," I snarled lowly. Carol eyed the broom on my hand.

"Of course," she started to extend her arm, and when my fingers barely grasped it, she snatched it away once more. "If you follow _everything_ I say."

"_What_?"

"Everything I _order_ you, and with time…" she shrugged. "I may give it to you. One day perhaps. It could be next week, you know."

"Don't you have shame?" I angrily pointed the stick of the broom at her. "You already make my life a miserable hell… and you still wish to do this?"

Smirking, Carol shrugged with a satisfied look.

"Is never enough when it comes to you, _Freaky Ann_."

I was fuming. My hands trembled on the broom, itching to punch her and tear all her blond hair from her head. I knew she was evil, but this was low, too low for her.

My right eye twitched.

"I am not going to obey you," I said with a tone of finality.

Carol sighed.

"Suit yourself."

And she ripped the envelope in a half. Satisfied at my stumped expression, Carol ripped the rest onto pieces; she quite had the energy, because I saw there were a lot of papers inside it.

"Bye Ann, have a good –" she let them fall on the floor, the very same place I had just left clean, "- day."

Happily humming, Carol disappeared from the pink hallway.

I sighed shakily, resting my forehead against the wall. The broom was still tightly held onto my hands, and I didn't want to let go, imagining it being Carol's neck.

"_I hate you_," I whispered anguished.

CRACK!

Jumping out of my bones, I looked over to where the sound came from. The window facing outside at the Cherry tree had a large crack on it. Seeing my reflection, I noticed, not for the first time, the despair of not being able to defend myself from the insults.

* * *

St. Louise's Orphanage always looked brighter when it was "Parents' Day". The decorations were too bright for my taste, but they actually matched the walls' depressing colors.

All the girls were ordered to use the uniform again, but this time all of them had been combed the same way.

"Now, when a Mr. – _whatever-his-name-is_ tries to talk about yourselves, what do we do?" demanded Darcy one day when I was passing the guest room. She always made them practice all day, wanting everything to be perfect.

"Yes, Mrs. Darcy" chorused all the St. Louise's girls. I cringed. Some of them were too loud, and their voices usually squeaked when they all spoke at once.

"Then – _smile_!"

It was almost choreographed. At the same time, all of them smiled, showing their teeth (I gagged when I saw Mary's yellowish teeth) and then tilted their heads to their left side, in what they thought it to be "cute". I shuddered, because their actions reminded me of the Stepford wives. And if I thought that movie was scary, this was _worse_.

The cleaning continued, and I found myself often out of the Orphanage. Mrs. Darcy always sent me away with an assistant to buy more food for the biscuits, and because she didn't want me to ruin the decorations. She already had rated me as the bad luck cat.

During this small amount of time, I could actually escape from the manipulative claws of old Darcy without her noticing my absence. It was to my benefit, because I started to work. Small things actually; like adjusting sprinkler systems, mow or trim the grass of the nearby neighborhood, pull out and spray weeds.

Lucky for me, the nearest neighborhood was on Magnolia Road. _St. Louise's_ was separated from it by a large field containing a small old playground. But I never had the chance to visit around here. And so, they thought I was another "kind girl" from the Orphanage, whose tragedy didn't impede her to smile from time to time. Kind of dramatic, but it worked for me. And besides, I was somewhat happy to earn money by myself, and as it didn't belong from Natasha, even if the salary was kind of appalling.

Before I knew it, 25th of July was only a day away. Ms. Darcy was in what I would like to denominate as "hysteric" mode, and I enjoyed every moment of it. She just didn't yell at me anymore, but at everyone who crossed her path, even Carol (oh, how elated I was that hour!).

That night I fell asleep, thinking of ways to distract myself as I was locked on my attic again.

Unaware that tomorrow morning, everything was going to change.


	6. Mr Dumbledore

"Would you like a biscuit, _sir_?"

I hated this day. I hated Mrs. Darcy. I hated Carol.

But most of all, I hated fancy dresses. Disturbing thing I was using right now as a man grabbed one of the biscuits from the tray I was carrying.

"Thank you, little Miss," the man chuckled and he turned around, giving me his back continuing to talk to his wife and another couple.

Rolling my eyes discreetly, I scratched my tummy where the blue ribbon was tied. It felt uncomfortable with the large horrendous white dress with too many laces on the ends of the skirt. Add the black shoes and the ribbon I was using as a headband, and ta-da! We have the most ridiculous Anya, but the perfect servant to Darcy!

The contrary as I had thought, Mrs. Darcy _did_ let me out of my attic, but at a heavy price. I had to work as a waitress during the entire event, until the day ended. And she made me use a dress! A fancy girly one! I was dying of embarrassment, but all the parents either ignored me or just asked for a damn biscuit or a glass of fruit punch. There were too… you know what, I am just going to stick with the snob theory, because they all act rather pompous, and their conversations sound like a business meeting rather than coming to see children.

Walking out of the guest room, I made my way to the kitchens, trying to not bump into someone. Dancing here and there, I finally made it to the hallways leading to my destination.

The kitchen was a disaster. Every assistant who worked here were pacing like maniacs from one side to another, each of them muttering incoherently or either carrying something. I didn't blame them, because contrary to me, they did have much to lose if Mrs. Darcy wasn't satisfied.

With a sigh, I went to the table with all the glasses of - I think is - Champaign. I put the tray on the table and sat on one of the scattered flour sacks. Glaring, I pulled the ribbon-headband out of my head. Another exasperated sigh escaped from my lips, making me place my head on my hands while my elbows rested on my knees.

I had sunk lower with this. They had made me sink on shame, embarrassment. All because I was _different_ from them, because they _feared_ me. I don't know if I should feel resentful towards them or feel pity for their way of thinking. But right now, I was going to swallow on my own river of pity.

Becoming bored, I started wrapping the ribbon on my hand.

"Shouldn't you be out there with the others, young lady?"

I jumped, making me stand up. I grabbed a nearby spoon on one of the bowls with rests of food, pointing in front of me.

It was an old man. A _very_ _old_ man. If the silver color of his hair didn't fail me, I would suppose he was older than eighty years. His hair and his beard were so long it could be tucked into his belt. He was tall and thin. His blue eyes were bright and twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, as if he was hiding a secret and was dying to share it. His nose was long and crocked, so I can assume it had been broken more than once.

But what really called my attention was his choice of clothing. He was wearing a purple suit made of plump velvet with shiny star patterns on it, his cloak was smoldering silver that swept the ground, making it stain it with flour, but he didn't seem to care.

He was everything Mrs. Darcy considered as "Lunatic", and that put him on my good books, but it also make me realize something.

"How did you get here?" I demanded, pointing the spoon up at him.

His blue eyes twinkled slightly.

"Is rude to point," he said with amusement.

Embarrassed, I lowered the "weapon" but my eyes didn't leave his figure.

"Sorry Mister…"

"Dumbledore," he told me gently, as if he weren't trying to scare me. "Albus Dumbledore."

"I've never heard a name like that," I mumbled. Mr. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, probably about how my voice sounded now that I was talking slowly. I blame it to the Orphanage, as all the girls had different accents, but my accent was a little broken, and I only sounded that I was British when I rambled. Otherwise, Natasha had commented that I sounded like an American.

"I suppose not," Mr. Dumbledore nodded, as if used to the comment. "May I?"

He motioned to my side, and I looked, surprised to see another sack of flour beside me. I could swear this one had been on _the corner of the room…_

I nodded and sat wearily on my own. With a smile, he followed me, and we both fell in silence.

It was uncomfortable, at least on my part. I didn't know what to say, or I wasn't sure if _I_ had to say something. He seemed pretty happy with just sitting in silence. Tapping my fingers against my thigh, I said something really brilliant or rather stupid. I am inclined to say stupid.

"Would you like a lemon drop?" I nodded u at the table, were one of the many trays had these candies for the girls, even if they didn't like it.

His eyes practically shone when I said this. "I would love to."

* * *

_Third POV_

"Ho, ho! You certainly have a humor, Eleanor!" said Mr. Cartwright. Mrs. Darcy smiled pleasantly at him.

"You flatter me Cartwright," she said with fake modesty. Inwardly, she wished to just grab her bottle of Whiskey and pour it on his blond wig. Yes, she was aware of that, thank you very much.

"Ah, don't you have a glass of water around here," complained Mrs. Flaherty, waving her fan exaggeratedly. Her black curls bobbing up and down as she moved her head in what appeared to be annoyance.

Mrs. Darcy herself felt annoyed, but covered it with a smile – which resembled more a grimace. Looking around, her annoyance grew when she noticed that Anya wasn't around.

"Excuse me, I'll see if everything is alright on the kitchens," Mrs. Darcy said, "you never know if your personnel is lacking on their work."

Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Flaherty barked out laughs, their wives letting out a fit of giggles behind them.

"Quite right you are, Darcy. I remember when…"

She didn't stay to hear the rest of the conversation. The click clack of her high heels were heard as she frantically hurried out of the room. Here was that prat?

Mrs. Darcy was answered as she entered through the double kitchen doors. However, little Anya wasn't alone.

The girl was sitting on one of the flour sacks, making Darcy want to shout at her for ruining a perfect dress. But sitting on another sack beside her, was an old man.

Mrs. Darcy's nose turned upright at the sight of him. His extravagant clothes should have been a sin! Everything, from his buckled boots to his long hair, was simply too disturbing! It was a menace for her dearest Institute. And worst of all, he seemed to be in a enjoyable talk with the Anya prat.

Was he -?

"Hello there," the man spoke. Mrs. Darcy noticed with grim satisfaction how Anya paled at her presence, but the man did not seem to notice, as he was focused on her.

"Evening," she said stiffly. Her eyes darted through all his shape, trying to find something – something that could assure her this were a mere piece of her imagination… not that Mrs. Darcy had one, anyways.

A sudden thought struck her, and Darcy opened her mouth –

"I have an appointment with Mrs. Eleanor Darcy, the matron," the old man piped up cheerfully. Gaping, Darcy could only stare at him, wondering how in the devil's name he guessed what she was going to demand.

"Professor Dumble – dorr –?" she said aloud. Mrs. Darcy wasn't quite sure if she pronounced correctly the name, but she couldn't care less.

"Mr. Dumbledore," said Anya quietly behind the old man. Darcy shot her a glare, but Anya was staring determinately at Dumbledore's back.

"Right," Darcy turned to the man and said shortly, "It would be better if we discuss this on my office. Follow me," and she turned on her heels, knowing full well this Rumbleroar-or-whoever-he-is was going to follow her.

Indeed, after an apologetic farewell, Albus Dumbledore followed her. Unfortunately, to go to her office they had to enter the Guest room, and when they did, all of the couples murmured behind his back and pointed his strange choice of clothing as Darcy silently did a few moments ago. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice, or he decided to ignore them all.

Mrs. Darcy's office was placed on the second floor at the southeast end of the floor. The room was the same as big as the Guest room, except the walls were covered with gray flowery designs, giving it a depressed environment. Rows of bookshelves were lined against the left wall, the other having been used as a wall of pictures. Mostly of them were of woman in their youth, showing their apparent success on the business. Mrs. Darcy had been very proud of each of them.

Facing the wide window was a wooden desk, looking more old than the building itself. There were only two battered looking chairs and one high comfy armchair at the head of the table.

Mrs. Darcy reluctantly offered a seat to this Dumbleroar fella. The fact that she _might_ despise him did not deter the manners her own teachers had taught her.

"Would you like some drink?" she said in a begrudging tone.

Dumbledore pleasantly said, "No, thank you."

She nodded briskly. Intertwining together her fingers, she leaned back on her seat, watching Dumbledore with her black eyes. They curiously resembled a crow watching its prey.

"I see you already met her," she stated. Mrs. Darcy, so preoccupied with her "Parents' day", forgot that she had made an appointment a week ago with a Dumbledore Professor, conveniently one day after Anya's birthday.

"She's a very polite girl," agreed Professor Dumbledore. "A bit jumpy, but it can change with time."

"Tell me again of this… _school_, of yours," said Darcy, making special emphasis on "school".

"As I already told you on my letter, Hogwarts is a school for gifted children –"

"The only gift I had seen on that girl was the ability to scare the other girls away," interrupted Darcy with a humorless smile. Had Dumbledore sat on her side of the table, he would have seen her tap one of the cabinets with a slight possessive manner. "So tell me, how come she has been offered a scholarship, when I didn't even entered her for one?"

Dumbledore didn't seem fazed.

"Her name has been written down for our school since birth –"

"Ah! So you must have met her parents!"

"I taught them, if you mean that," said Dumbledore delicately.

"Then… do you know why they abandoned her here?" asked Darcy, eagerly learning forward.

Dumbledore sighed, standing a little straighter.

"They… both were killed… by a mad man," he said quietly. Mrs. Darcy had the decency to look ashamed – and bit surprised, no less.

"I see," she mused. "And her family…"

"All of them dead."

Mrs. Darcy nodded.

"A tragic beginning for someone so young," she thought aloud, "I really didn't see this coming."

She shook herself or her silliness.

"Could you tell me how her life has been here? On the Orphanage?" said Dumbledore.

Mrs. Darcy's mouth twitched upwards.

"Where do I begin?" she sighed. "Better be the beginning. Okay then… it had rained that day. Lightning and all that stuff. I was doing my patrol on the east wing from the girls' dormitories, when the bell – we had a bell around that time – rang. The sound woke most of the girls, so I went to investigate. Imagine my shock to find a baby on the doorstep – completely dry, may I add."

Darcy was looking at the door over his shoulders, a farewell look on her face.

"The only thing she brought with her was a blanket – and a note with her name and her birthday. Nothing more, nothing less.

"She never cried, you know. The wailing of the babies always brought me crazy, but it had become a daily thing. That girl… she was a mystery. She didn't talk until she was five years old, but –"

She stopped short. Darcy brought a hand to one loose lock of her hair.

"She's been always strange…" Darcy said, looking quite frightened. "There – there was this time when we went to a fieldtrip. I had a knack for the green colour, so I thought… why not? It happened on a park. Anya still didn't talk, and the girls assumed she didn't want them around, so they let her be. I was drinking coffee, looking out for the gardens when six year old Carol Davis came yelling," she grimaced, "I lost my cup. Scared out of her guts, the girl told me to follow her. What choice did I have?"

The hand on the arm of the chair tightened.

"We arrived to a cherry orchard at the hill, and there she was," she chuckled bitterly, "little Anya with an animal. It was one of those garden snakes you rarely find, and you know what? _SHE_ was talking to it!

"And later," Mrs. Darcy continued once she composed herself, not noticing the Professor stiff slightly at her last words, "she sent a man flying through a wall! Never, _ever_ –" she spat, "I've been more ashamed."

"Why do you say that, Mrs. Darcy?" queried Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling once more.

"Because it had been the delivery man," Darcy scowled. "She said he tried to take advantage of her. Ha! As if! That girl just wanted to call attention. Then there was another time she ended on a tree, because, according to her, a _hare_ had scared her."

Mrs. Darcy let out a breath of air.

"Are you really sure you want _her_? Because, once you take her, there's no turning back," Darcy said in warning, meaning every word of it.

"She will have to return, at the least, every summer," said Dumbledore. "We can't keep her permanently, after all."

Darcy shrugged. "Three months here and the rest of the year away? I think _St. Louise's_ can manage."


	7. I Am Not Joking

_Anya's POV_

The day had ended remarkably well. Four girls had been chosen to be taken: one oldest of twelve, a pair of six year olds, and a girl around five.

The party, or whatever it could be labeled as, ended around six o'clock. Along with the assistants, I helped to sweep (it badly smelled of alcohol) the Guest room and picking up the leftovers of food.

The disappointed girls had been ushered up at their rooms, leaving us to do the job.

Mr. Dumbledore still hadn't returned from Mrs. Darcy's office, and I was beginning to worry about that. I always said she was a witch – like the one in Hansel and Gretel's book, but what if I was right if Darcy had eaten Mr. Dumbledore? For his sake I hoped she didn't. It didn't help the fact Darcy looked downright murderous when she saw me talking to him… not that it was uncommon whatever something like this happened though.

Without any of the employees looking on my way, I snatched a bit of food – that looked edible for me to eat – on a plastic bag, and hid it on my dress. My hate for dresses softened a little because of the help it granted me on this occasion.

"Anya," I snapped erect at the voice, trying to not look guilty as I turned to face Mrs. Darcy. Behind her was Mr. Dumbledore, eyeing with mild interest the small fountain of candies Susanne – other employee – created this year. She had particularly a knack to creating with her bare hands, and _St. Louise's_ wasn't disappointed to present another masterpiece. Three levels made of real frozen candy; the fountain was the most colorful object on the room, immediately drawing attention to it.

"Ma'am," I greeted. It was the way Mrs. Darcy ordered me to call her in the presence of others, if not, I would just call her Darcy without a care. To my discomfort, she was smiling, something she never did on my presence unless she had news (good for her; bad for me) or either when there were people around (except for the girls and her personnel).

I risked a glance to Mr. Dumbledore – only for me to find him smiling too.

What was happening?

"Anya," she said once more, her voice ringing with a sweet dulcet… that only made me more wary of her. "This man here – Professor Dumbledore, has come with a request to you."

I felt my eyebrows knit together. Professor?

"I'll let him explain the details to you in my office."

Mrs. Darcy moved aside to let Mr. – Professor? – Dumbledore face me. He smiled pleasantly.

"If you please," and he motioned with a hand.

Feeling more and more confused, I warily walked to the hallway leading to the second floor.

Once on Darcy's office, I waited for him to catch up. Mr. Dumbledore entered the wide room, offering me to take a seat. I did so.

The Grandfather clock chimed up from behind the Professor, filling the awkward silence of the room. The tiny owl at the top of the numbers glared at me from its place, ordering me to look at the man in the eye.

Mr. Dumbledore was smiling quite cheerfully for my taste. He was a Professor? Why didn't he tell me down on the kitchen? And he came to see me?

There was only one explanation for that.

"Please tell me you don't come from a Mental Institution," I begged.

Dumbledore chuckled.

"No, no, dear," "Thank god," I sighed, bringing out a laugh from him.

"Like Mrs. Darcy said before, I came with a request. You see, I am Headmaster of Hogwarts and you have been accepted."

I frowned. "Really? I didn't knew Dar – Mrs. Darcy had appointed me to one."

Smiling – when he doesn't? – Mr. Dumbledore pulled out an envelope – one looking exactly the same as the one Carol had ripped a week ago. He offered it to me.

I reached out for it – my fingers trembling (why were they trembling so badly?) until I finally touched it. Instead of opening it, I took my time examining it carefully, as if it could suddenly combust in flames.

_Ms. A. Barton_

_Brightest Side of the Attic_

_St. Louise's Orphanage_

_Surrey_

It had been written on emerald ink. Feeling something behind the envelope, I turned it over, only to see a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

It had been Mr. Dumbledore who sent me the first letter. The only change was that the place where I slept was put on it. How did they know where I slept by the way? They just couldn't just be very dedicated people to their work.

I pulled out the letter and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE _

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Barton, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. _

_Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall, _

_Deputy Headmistress _

There was more silence. Only whistling of the wind hitting on the window could be heard.

"You are joking me?" I said in disbelief. I was waiting for him to yell 'FOOL!' and then Carol and Mrs. Darcy to show up and the three of them to cackle at my foolishness.

But… seriously… it had to be a joke or something…

"No, Miss Barton," I looked over at him sharply, "I am not joking. You truly are a witch."

He was serious. Mr. Dumbledore had stopped smiling, and the twinkle on his blue eyes had slightly fallen. I could see… was he weary? Of my reaction?

Wasn't it obvious for him I wasn't going to believe him at first?

"How is it possible?" I whispered tearfully. "There's no thing such as magic!"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps… a demonstration will help you…?"

He pulled out a long thin stick out of one of his pockets. It pretty much looked like a tree branch, except it was thin and had two small bumps at the bottom. Turning around, Mr. Dumbledore pointed at the grandfather clock muttering something that I honestly haven't heard on my life before.

A yellow light shot over at the top of the clock, and to my great shock, the owl on it blinked its eyes. The wings began to move before he took flight; the golden piece flew all over the room, the last rays of sun making glow eerily above us. The room was illuminated by its golden hue.

The owl swooped down on the table, its landing resonating with a delicate 'DING'.

Gaping, I stared at the mechanical bird. His gears were visible under the wings, as they were through his eyes. The wings themselves seemed like sharp knives made of gold. Daring myself, I touched it with one finger, the cold surface sending shivers down my arm. The owl nipped affectingly at my fingers before it flew once more, this time settling permanently itself on the clock. His eyes glowed for a moment, until the clock chimed loudly with a hoot.

"Wicked," I breathed. It had been a beautiful performance; I hadn't feel this excited in a long time, since Natasha told me she was the same as –

Wait, what?

"_You're not alone, Anya. Not anymore."_

She was… she is… wait a second, _she's a witch_?!

"I know this must be hard to believe, Anya," Mr. Dumbledore said. "But, has anything… _odd_ happened when your emotions had gotten the better of you? At all?"

I looked down, feeling suddenly abashed. _"When had not?"_, would be the question here.

Hearing snakes talk… turning a flower into a butterfly… cracking the window days ago when Carol made me mad…

It all made sense in a way. A _very morbid_ way, but it made sense.

Blinking, I looked over at the Professor, a sad smile tugging on my face.

Mr. Dumbledore practically beamed.

"Everything that has happened… was it because I have magic?" I asked. He nodded.

"Indeed. And remarkable magic, from what I had heard," I raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "After all, not many elven years old can say they managed to send someone flying through a wall, _wandlessly_ may I add."

He chuckled as he saw me blush. A thought suddenly went to my mind.

"Sir… it says here my name is _Barton_… does that means you know my parents?"

Whatever happiness he had at the moment evaporated in one instant. His eyes turned slightly distant and cold, which took me by surprise.

"Yes," he finally answered. "I knew them."

By the way he said knew…

"Are they…"

"No. They both died when you were a year old baby," Mr. Dumbledore said quietly.

I nodded. The heavy feeling I had been repressing for years slowly evaporated. I had always thought… that there was the possibility of them abandoning me because I wasn't a planned child… because they didn't want _me_. It somewhat relieved me, but it made me extremely sad, too. Alive, I could meet them; ask the why of everything I had always pondered of myself. But now… I would never know if they loved me, if I looked like one of them; did I have my mum's eyes, or those were from dad? Was my hair color hereditary? Could I have had a little brother or sister?

It didn't matter anymore. Still…

"What were their names?" I said. I knew I was demanding, not asking. But I honestly couldn't care less. If I couldn't meet my dead parents, at least I wanted something from them.

Dumbledore answered in a gentle tone:

"Alec and Cassie Barton. Both of them were wizards like you and I."

I nodded sadly.

Raising my head, I pointed at his wand.

"Where do I get one of those?"

The Professor started chuckling and the twinkle on his eyes returned.

"I take that means you're accepting your place at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Then it will be in Diagon Alley, in London. In the envelope, you will find the list of books and school equipment you will need this year."

"This year? How many years do you study at Hogwarts?"

"Seven in fact, until you decide which career you want to purchase."

"Career?"

"Is too soon to be talking about that," he commented lightly. I agreed. All this new information was making my head spin.

"Sir," I called, remembering something. "How will I buy all of this –" I waved the envelope, "– when I don't have much money at all?" I had a small amount, but I don't think it would cover just one book at all.

"That is easily remedied," Mr. Dumbledore dismissed, putting away his wand. "Both your parents had left you inheritance enough for you to live on, at least for your school years."

I numbly nodded. They left me an inheritance?

"Then when I can go to Diagon Alley?"

"Next week would be quite right, but unfortunately I wouldn't be able to join you," he said. I deflated a little by that. "I will send someone to help you get your supplies, of course."

"Okay."

"Then this will be all," he stood up, me following him like a kicked puppy. "As for how you arrive to Hogwarts, all the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope. You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

"I think I can manage," I said.

Dumbledore smiled kindly.

"Very well, then. I hope to see you at the beginning of the term, Miss Barton."

I couldn't help it. I smiled widely and cheekily responded:

"Same as you, Professor." Or even more.


	8. Diagon Alley

**I know you noticed I changed Annie's mum's name. But I decided to change it to Cassiopeia, and if you read the third book an onwards, it's quite obvious that it fits more than Serena.**

**I don't own Harry Potter at all, just Annie and her family background.**

* * *

"Miss Barton, I presume."

I rose up my head to look at the owner's voice. It was a woman – a severe looking woman, who wore square glasses, and her black hair –which was graying a little – was drawn into a tight bun. I had to blink several times by how her emerald suit looked exactly the same as Darcy's. And she looked irritable.

Maybe that's why Darcy greeted her with a genuine grin, scaring a little girl passing by the entrance hall.

I gulped. "Yes? I mean – yes."

Good Lord, I hoped my assumptions were terribly wrong and she wasn't anything like Darcy – magic style.

"I came on Professor Dumbledore's behalf. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

I nodded.

"Now – Mrs. Darcy was it? – if you can excuse us."

Darcy didn't utter a single word. I was worried she may have been paralyzed by the shock, but I just shrugged it off and followed Professor McGonagall outside.

* * *

The travel on train was highly amusedly.

Professor McGonagall often moved on her seat, not able of staying still. She started first by looking around subtly and then grabbing the hem of her emerald jack and then crossed her legs. She repeated it several times throughout the journey.

"Where are we going?" I had asked at some point, trying to dissipate the awkward silence.

"To London, at the Leaky Cauldron."

I knitted my eyebrows together in puzzlement, but didn't question further.

The Leaky Cauldron ended being up a Pub. If McGonagall hadn't stopped me to a halt with her arm, I would have just passed it without looking at it. All the people around us didn't seem to notice it and just hurried away from it without a glance.

"Can't they -?"

"Only Wizards can see it," answered McGonagall. "It's charmed to be invisible for the Muggles."

"Muggles?" I said.

"Non-magic folk."

My mouth made a small "o". Still, they seriously sold spellbooks and wands in there?

The place was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking something pink form their tiny glasses. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The chatter almost came to a stop, had it not been for Professor McGonagall glaring at them.

"Hullo Tom," said McGonagall to the Bartender.

"Professor!" Tom greeted surprised. "No wonder why all the sudden hush."

"It's not like I am going to scold them," muttered the woman with a scowl.

"Can you blame them, though?" grinned Tom. "Half the Pub is full of your old students. That, and it's not highly common to see you around. Didn't you once say it was foolish for you to come all the way here if you could just Apparate to Diagon Alley?"

Had I not figured he was teasing, I was pretty sure McGonagall would have blushed. She opted for deepening her scowl though.

"The Headmaster thought it would be quite the thrill to travel the Muggle way," she said grudgingly. I hid my snicker with a cough when I saw them both turn to me.

"Oh yes, Tom this is Anya Barton. We are here to buy her supplies for Hogwarts."

Tom the Bartender sent me a toothy smiled and offered me his hand to shake.

"Is good to meet you," he said warmly, even if his hand felt quite cold. "I met your father once. He was a great man."

I nodded, not knowing what to say. McGonagall pulled out a golden pocket-watch and looked at it.

"I am afraid we must retire Tom. Could you give Professor Quirrel and Hagrid my greetings? I heard they both were going to pass by."

"Of course. It was good to see you Minerva," he smiled.

"You too Tom. Take care."

Professor McGonagall led us through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few dry weeds. She pulled out her wand and with it, tapped the brick wall three times.

No pun intended, but it was like magic. One brick moved aside and the others followed, looking like a very complicated jigsaw until they all united on each side forming pillars.

"Miss Barton, I would like to welcome you to Diagon Alley."

Smiling for the first time since we left St. Louise's because of my bewildered expression, Professor McGonagall grabbed a hold of my sleeve and led me through the archway.

Not that I have been on alleys before, but I was quite sure this was the biggest London had. Hundreds of shops and stores were lined down the pebbled road, each of them painted with exuberant colors that didn't match at all. Oddly enough, they seemed to lean at such sharp angles that they would surely fall at any moment, had they not been supported by magic.

What most surprised me though, were the choices of clothing of all the people. Most of them wore cloaks of different types, the same as their robes; the women wore pointed hats like normal people had stereotyped for witches (except they weren't ugly at all) and the men used pointy or flat hats with stars on them. A bunch of kids about my age were gaping outside a window of a shop called _Quality Quidditch Supplies _were they presented a shiny broomstick (I was discovering the stereotypes we use have a bit of truth on them). The sound of hoots came from a dark shop labeled as _Eeylops Owl Emporium, _were owls of different sizes and colors were displayed through the window. There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments (which I didn't knew what they were), windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

Once we made it through the crowd, McGonagall led us to a snowy white building named _GRINGOTTS BANK_, which was placed on the very heart of the alley and towering over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was what appeared to be a goblin. He was head shorter than me and had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. The Goblin bowed at us as we passed, Professor McGonagall tilting her head in greeting.

This time though we face silver doors with word engraved on them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn. _

_So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there._

I shuddered at what awaited for those who were foolish enough to not understand the hidden threat on those words. We were bowed in by a pair of goblins and then we were in a vast marble hall. Almost a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were way too many doors to count that led off the hall, and, if possible, even more goblins showing people in and out of the doors. Professor McGonagall walked confidently to a high counter and I had no choice but follow her.

The Goblin behind the counter was scribbling something with a piece of feather and only stopped when he noticed the Professor's presence.

"Good Morning," said McGonagall stiffly. "We have come to take out some money from Miss Barton's safe."

The Goblin raised an eyebrow.

"You said… _Barton_?"

She nodded.

"AKINS!" the goblin bellowed loudly, making me jump in surprise while Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes at the unnecessary act.

Akins ended being another goblin; however, he was younger than any of them. There wasn't the nasty permanent look all of his species seemed to have on the room. He was serious, and had greeted us politely.

"Lead them to the Night Sky vault," I heard the goblin mutter to Akins.

Akins led us away from the hall to a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. The goblin whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward us.

Our travel was like riding a racing car. They were ups, they were downs, there were a lot of forks in our way, and most of all, I think we rode upside down at some point and saw a dragon: that or I imagined the cold blind red eyes staring at me because of all the blood rushing up (or was it down?) to my head. This somehow reminded me of one of the typical games in an amusement park. Stalactite and stalagmite was everywhere I could barely see.

Our cart finally came to a stop in the lowest point of the big cavern… or whatever they call the underground place on Gringotts. I thought my parents' vault would be like the other ones we had passed in our way, but I was wrong. Very _very_ wrong.

Firstly, there wasn't one but hundreds of doors from the ceiling, down to the ground. All of them seemed to be made of gold, but each had a different symbol on their doors. Akins however, didn't even blink up at all; instead, he approached one of the two doors nearest to the ground.

These two looked completely different from the others. It was not the fact they were the only doors separated from the rest, but that they had been carved with black ink. A crescent moon with a small star on the middle had been carved on the doors, but they didn't face each other. Between the doors, on the rock wall was painted another symbol. In gold, a pentagram with wings shone slightly against the torches' light.

Akins led us to the immediate left door.

"Your hand, please," he said to me. Warily, I gave it to him, only to gasp when I felt my finger being pinched.

"What the –"

I didn't end my proclamation. Akins had put my hand on the door, precisely where the symbol was. I retracted my hand quickly, and I noticed a small red stain on it. Looking down at my finger, I confirmed it as blood.

The effect was instant. The symbol on the door turned golden and it opened, a lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, I let my jaw hang open in shock. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts. And a few pieces of jewelry and gems lying here and there.

_And everything was mine._

Akins gave me a small tattered bag to gather my coins in.

"The gold ones are called Galleons," he explained, "the silver ones are Sickles, and the bronze ones are Knuts. There are seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Sickles to a Knut." I just nodded numbly. I had the temptation to grab one of the gems, but under the scrutiny of McGonagall's cat-like eyes, I didn't want to push my luck.

* * *

"Do you have your list, Miss Barton?"

Nodding, I pulled out from the second piece of the letter.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_**UNIFORM **_

_First-year students will require: _

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black) _

_2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear _

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) _

_4. Plain white buttoned shirts (it's recommended to purchase five for each day of the week)_

_5. Three sets of ties (thin stripes)_

_6. A charcoal grey knitted V-neck jumper._

_7. A cardigan or a sleeveless jumper _

_8. A skirt (around knee-length). Girls also have to wear black tights or stockings. _

_9. Students of both genders are required to wear plain black shoes._

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags _

_**COURSE BOOKS **_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following: _

_**The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)**__  
by Miranda Goshawk _

_**A History of Magic**__  
by Bathilda Bagshot _

_**Magical Theory**__  
by Adalbert Waffling _

_**A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration**__  
by Emeric Switch _

_**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi**__  
by Phyllida Spore _

_**Magical Drafts and Potions**__  
by Arsenius Jigger _

_**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them  
**__by Newt Scamander _

_**The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection**__  
by Quentin Trimble _

_**OTHER EQUIPMENT **_

_1 wand _

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) _

_1 set of glass or crystal phials _

_1 telescope set _

_1 brass scales _

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad _

_**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**_

The nearest shop was _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_. Madam was a sweet elder woman with gray hair and blue eyes. She wore pink robes, but despite the fact I dislike the color, it suited her rather well. Then again, she was an expert when it came to Wizard Fashion.

While I was being fitted by her, something colorful had caught my attention. It was a large scarf with broad colored stripes pattern on it; red and gold, green and silver, blue and bronze, and black with yellow. It had the Hogwarts crest knitted on one of the ends.

"Excuse me, how much does that cost?"

Professor McGonagall and I left the shop with a large bag carrying my new uniform, and with me wearing a new scarf.

Next stop was _Flourish and Blotts _were we bought my school books: the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Unfortunately, I was almost squashed by one book the size of my own body. Next we walked across the street to the Apothecary for potions ingredients, as well as a cauldron, glass phials, and brass scales.

"If you wish to, we can go to _Eeylops Owl Emporium_ to purchase a pet of your liking," said McGonagall once we exited the shop. I shook my head.

"I couldn't afford to keep it," I told her sadly. "Mrs. Darcy would not approve of having a pet on the Orphanage."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"Professor Dumbledore or I could talk and convince her otherwise."

"No, no!" I said, waving my hands back and forth with difficulty because of the shopping bags. "You both already have done enough for me. It isn't necessary to do more, okay?"

The Professor stared hard, with a searching gaze, making me squirm a little in discomfort. Finally, she shook her head.

"_Like Father, like Daughter_," I heard her mutter under her breath. "Very well then. Our last stop is Ollivander's."

I grinned. It was time to get my wand!

The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. As we both stepped inside, we heard the sound of a tinkling bell sound from the depths of the shop. The place was tiny, empty except for a single spindly chair on the corner. I felt strangely as though I had entered a very strict library. I looked up. Thousands of narrow boxes were piled neatly up to the ceiling. The silence was kind of creeping me out; it was as though it was hiding something…

Suddenly, we heard a loud _**THUNK**_!

An old man had appeared on a ladder. His wide, pale eyes shone like moons through the gloom of the shop as he gazed at us.

"Good afternoon," he said softly. I swallowed as he descended quietly from his staircase.

"Hello there," I said awkwardly.

"Minerva McGonagall," he greeted with a soft smile at the Professor, who answered in the same way. "It is good to see you again. Fir and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, if I remember correctly? Quite stiff. I assume it still meets your satisfaction in Transfiguration."

"Very much," agreed McGonagall.

"Excellent, excellent," Ollivander nodded. He turned to me once more. "You must be Anya Barton."

"How di –?"

"You're the spitting image of your mother. I still remember when she first came here with her family. Ten inches, unicorn hair, made of sycamore. Slightly flexible. From what I heard, excellent for Transfiguration," he chuckled. "Wasn't she, Minerva?"

But then he frowned. His misty eyes had fixed intently on mine.

"Your father on the other hand… Nine and a quarter inches, alder with a golden phoenix feather. All the contrary to his family's wandlore. But then again, your father was an unusual boy… an extraordinary young man."

I wished he could blink. There was something on Ollivander's searching gaze I didn't like at all. Slowly, he raised a hand, his pointing finger touching tenderly the corner of my left eye.

"And lastly, there is you. One half your mother, the other half your father. Both were exceptional wizards, I wonder… will you follow the tradition?"

I tried to not frown.

"Then there is… _this_," his hand hovered over my eyes. "These are your father's eyes. They don't belong to you."

The bell hanging above the door chimed right then. I sighed in relief when Ollivander looked away.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his kind eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. I was slightly surprised he hadn't scared me, but then again, a lot has happened with Mr. Dumbledore's announcement so everything was possible by now.

In front of him was a boy who looked around my age. He was the same size as me but much more skinnier than a normal boy should be. His clothes seemed to be four sizes bigger than his own size, and they were quite old and tattered. He had a thin face and black hair (which looked raven against the candle's light) where under it, I could barely see a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead, and he wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape. What most intrigued me were his eyes. They were like bright emerald stones.

So focused analyzing their appearance, I didn't notice the boy was doing the same with me.

"Professor McGonagall!" exclaimed the giant with grin. "Didn' expect to see yeh here!"

"Nor did I, Hagrid," said McGonagall sternly… but then she gave him a small smile. "However, it is good to see you today. Thought Albus had sent you on an assignment?"

Hagrid puffed out his chest proudly, all the bags on his hands tingling like small bells.

"'course he did! In fact," he smiled down at the boy. "Professor, I would like ter present yeh –"

"_Harry Potter_."

It had been Ollivander who interrupted Hagrid. As he had done to me before, he was gazing unblinkingly at the green eyed boy, who blushed under everyone's scrutinizing.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Mr. Potter," Ollivander continued. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to him. Potter peered over at me, and I gave him "I know the feeling" look, smiling and shrugging at the same time.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Potter were almost nose to nose. Hagrid shifted uncomfortably behind him, while he and Professor McGonagall shared a look.

"And that's where…" Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on the boy's forehead with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

Shaking his head, Ollivander became aware of Hagrid's presence.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid. Potter had approached my side while the men talked. I sent him a small smile, which I am content to say he returned.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er — yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" Ollivander said sharply. McGonagall looked over at him sternly, but there was this spark on her eyes I didn't quite catch well.

"Oh, no, sir," Hagrid replied quickly. I noticed Hagrid grip tightly the pink umbrella as he spoke, and I and the sudden idea that he always keep the pieces of his wand there.

Ollivander hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, now - Mr. Potter, Miss Barton. Let me see," he produced a long tape measure from his pocket. "Which are your wand arms?"

"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Potter. Ollivander nodded before he looked questioningly at me.

"I write with my right hand, but I mostly use my left one," I said quietly. He nodded.

"Mr. Potter, hold out your arm first. That's it." I stepped away from Potter as he began to get measured. As he measured, Mr. Ollivander said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magic substance, Mr. Potter, Miss Barton. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons and phoenixes are quite the same. And, naturally, you will never get much good results with another wizard's wand."

I hummed thoughtfully, my eyes widening when I noticed the measurement tape between my nostrils was moving by its own.

Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That'll do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter, Miss Barton. Try these. Beech wood, oak, both with dragon heartstrings. Each nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take them and give 'em a wave."

Biting my lip, I did so. From behind, I heard a lamp breaking. Jumping, I hurriedly put the wand on the counter.

"Apparently not," said Ollivander, snatching Potter's wand out of his hand. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —"

This time, Potter blew up a vase.

"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, both try it out."

We tried. And tried. And I was sure I was getting a headache by the next half hour. All the wands we tried were piled neatly together, becoming higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customers, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

I grabbed it, but I felt nothing, so I passed it to Potter. The moment he got hold of the thin piece of wood, he raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and McGonagall and I clapped while Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"

He put Potter's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering,

"Curious… curious…"

"Sorry, but what's curious?" asked Potter, sounding genuinely preoccupied when Ollivander fixed him with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. _Every single wand_. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar."

Professor McGonagall gaped unashamedly. Instead, I just stared at Potter's scar with newfound curiosity. It had been given to him by a wizard? If so, then how? In which circumstances had it happened?

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

I was sure Potter was having second opinions of Ollivander, not that I blamed him. He paid for his wand, and after a heartily farewell, both he and Hagrid left us.

"As for you, Miss Barton," Ollivander went back to his ladder, going up until he almost reached the ceiling and pulled an old looking box. "I should have known you would need a wand nearly as powerful as your family was."

Once he had blown all the dust, he offered me the wand. It was ivory white at the handle while the rest of the wood faded into a black color. There was a tiny gem stone at the end that I couldn't identify.

Praying, almost begging for it to work, I closed my eyes and waved it in front of me. I felt a sudden warmth in my fingers, which it spread through my arm until I felt it had touched my heart. A golden glow surrounds the wand, a slight breeze passing through my long hair.

And then the feeling stopped.

"You will carry the family tradition it seems," Ollivander smiled softly and took my new wand, admiring the piece of wood with gleeful eyes. "Ten and one quarter inches, aspen with a golden phoenix feather. Slightly springy."

He looked up at me.

"The bird from where it came the feather was the same as your father's. It's highly unusual for a creature so detached from the world to choose two members from a same family. Less from a father to his daughter."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Then again," Ollivander looked over at her, his eyes setting on the window facing outside. "The wand chooses the Wizard."

He seemed to nod to himself.

"As with Mr. Potter, we must expect great things from you Miss Barton."

* * *

"If is not much bother, Miss Barton," said McGonagall when we were outside the shop. "I would very much like to return to _St. Louise's_ on a different method."

Confused, I only shook my head. "I don't mind."

The Professor almost sagged in obvious relief.

"Good – very well, I will take you on side-along Apparation."

"Say what?"

"It is a form of how we travel, where we disappear in one place and end up in another. Although I must warn you, the first time might seem unpleasant, but I assure you, no harm will come to you, and it is the fastest way. Are you ready to go?"

"Um – yes, but how do I do this?"

"You need only take hold of my robes," said McGonagall. "And make sure you hold on tight."

Nodding, I tentatively grasped McGonagall's sleeve.

"I suggest you should close your eyes," advised the Professor and I quickly did so. I felt McGonagall turn a little on her place and last I heard was a small _**pop**_!

I felt as if was being sucked through a narrow tube, all the air had gone away from my lungs, making me feel extremely dizzy. Panicked, I thought I couldn't breathe. Then, after what could have been only a second or two at most, my feet slammed into solid ground with me gasping and sucking all the air through my mouth. Snapping my eyes open, I closed them quickly because of the bright sunlight. But still, through half-closed eyes, I could see _St. Louise's_ crest gate above my head.

After this, I was pretty sure I wasn't too fond of Apparition.


	9. Hogwarts' Express

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Those were the first word that flew out of my mouth when I saw Natasha.

It had been two weeks since I had gone to Diagon Alley with Professor McGonagall. St. Louise's hardly changed, but this time no one paid me attention. Even Carol conformed herself to just snarl or throw some rude comment on my way, but I could care less.

Mrs. Darcy didn't even portray herself as a rude person. Sure, she still seemed to hate my guts with every molecule of her body, but apparently McGonagall's visit had soothed her somewhat, and just talked and ordered me curtly with a subtle polite tone.

Still, I didn't care.

It had been almost a month in which I had not seen Natasha, and I was almost on the verge of ripping away what was left of my hair. I was bursting to ask her _everything_ she knew about the Wizarding World, but the joy I felt faded at the fifth day the thought occurred. New questions were bubbling on my head, and, out of boredom, I wrote each of them as my annoyance grew with each passing day.

Why hadn't Natasha told me she – that _we_ were witches? Why the sudden disappearances? And most important of all, did she know who I was from the beginning? Because people who had met my father had said I looked like my mother.

There had to be an explanation.

And she, the scarlet woman waiting on the stairs leading up to my attic, was going to answer right now.

Natasha didn't fidget at all nor did waver at the sound of my voice. Once again, I knew I was demanding and being respectful to the only woman I could consider as a mother, but I wanted answers. Couldn't she understand that?

Her greenish-blue eyes stared up at my small form from where I stood. One hand on the railing, the other carrying a pink shopping bag. She was wearing her favorite black coat and underneath, I could glimpse a bit of blue. Her red hair was slightly tousled slightly because of the wind outside.

She didn't seem any different from the last time I saw her, not even if she said she had been sick. But I was glaring at her with a new set of eyes: I was beginning to search anything from her that could tell me she was magical. The only conclusion in which I came was her eyes. Ollivander's comment rang through my head. _These are your father's eyes. They don't belong to you._

"I don't know what are you talking about," said Natasha slowly, her body tensing slightly as she climbed the stairs. I moved aside to let her in, but I wasn't finished.

"Then let me rephrase in another way. You're a witch. Why didn't you tell me?"

She didn't even face me. With her back facing me, Natasha let the pink bag fell on the bureau with certain heaviness. Turning around, she looked directly at my eyes, but even though I felt uncomfortable, I didn't back down.

"You weren't ready," she plainly noted.

"And now I am?" sarcasm laced on my voice.

Natasha stared at me long enough to state, "Apparently not."

And then she turned to rummage through her bag.

I gaped incredulously at her. That's it? _Apparently not? _

"Wait, what is that supposed to mean?"

Even not facing me, I could imagine her rolling her eyes.

"Really Annie, where you going to believe me if I suddenly came one day and said, 'Oh, hello Anya! Here you can have this biscuit, and by the way, I am a witch and so are you!' would you have believed me?"

I fell silent.

"Exactly. So I just resigned myself to wait until your Hogwarts' letter arrived and then I would tell you in a _civilized_ conversation," she tilted her head back at me with a rueful smile. "Didn't go that way, did it?"

I looked away embarrassed. She _did_ have a point, but still…

"Answer me this," I took a deep breath. "Did you know my parents? Did you meet them at all?"

The question threw her off: Natasha clearly had been expecting all but this.

Sliding off her coat, she set it on the hammock without looking at me. The window's light hit her form, and I vaguely remembered comparing her to a fairy once.

"Yes," she said carefully. "I met your mother… but I was more acquainted with your father."

I inhaled sharply. "You went to Hogwarts?"

Natasha nodded, avoiding my eyes carefully. I noticed pull out something from her bag, making me to inch a little closer to my mirror.

With a small sigh, she turned around. Rolling it on her hand, she used her right one to softly caress the thin piece of wood.

I recognized it as a wand. The dark wood contrasted against her pale skin, with a hole carved through the handle. At the tip of the wand, there was an onyx stone glued together with a silver ring on it.

"My own," Natasha said proudly, "eleven inches, made of silver lime with a dragon heartstring belonging from the last Catalonian Fireball," she sighed. "It's been years since I had used it."

She offered me the piece of wood. But I didn't grab it. There was something on the wand that didn't fit quite well, at least for me. Then again, Ollivander _did_ mention the wands always choose their new owners.

Natasha smiled.

"Feels a little inadequate, huh? Don't worry. It does that all the time," then her smile turned a little bittersweet. "But that wasn't what I was going to show you."

She brought up a wooden box. It had a small seal with the Hogwarts crest on the lid. Slowly, I went to grab it, and after a fearful moment, I opened it.

It held two more wands. One of them was completely brown with half side of the stick painted ivory and the other looked remarkably similar like my own, except for the fact that instead of the handle being white, this was completely red. It too, had a small stone on it, but it was a red ruby.

When it appeared to have passed an eternity, I finally grasped it with fumbling fingers.

A warm like no other started from the bottom of my stomach, traveling through my veins as a lightning bolt. My fingers tingled pleasantly, and somehow, I felt as if I was being warmed by an invisible blanket covering all of my skin.

"That was your father's," I heard Natasha whisper from her place. "The other was from your mum."

"How did you get them?" I asked, curious as to how she got these pieces.

"That's not important," she snapped. I looked up surprised at her outburst.

"Why –"

"Look," she said more calmly, but still breathing heavily, "I am not going to tell you right now. Not until you –"

"- are ready? Natasha, I just want to know how you got their wands, not how they died!"

She paled visibly.

"They don't have to do anything with their deaths… do they?" I asked timidly. The warm feeling didn't go away, but it didn't help disappear the sudden cold feeling of that thought either.

And it just intensified when Natasha didn't answer.

Instead, she just turned around and grabbed her bag.

"Tell me, did you bought "_Hogwarts: A History_"?

* * *

The last two weeks weren't depressing or boring in any way. Most of the time I was reading my new schoolbooks, with Natasha throwing an occasional comment when questions arose. I did not mention my parents again in her presence, but fortunately, Natasha let me stay with their wands. In a way, that was payment for my silence, even though I still had many questions about them.

During this time, I mainly stuck reading _Hogwarts: A History_ and _Magical Drafts and Potions_. The first one because I wanted to know more about the school's story, and also found very interesting information about what happens once you arrive. Like, for example, Hogwarts was divided into four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and lastly, Slytherin. According to the book, you were placed on one of them depending on your qualities. Either way, I got lost, so I just skipped that chapter.

_Magical Drafts and Potions _sounded rather boring, but still I read it. The reason was because Potions sounded difficult to do. The theory, that was easy. But I was not going to take chances to blow up my cauldron. Although, it was very tenting to do so here in _St. Louise's _and see if I can manage to toss it on Carol Davis' room.

Today, Natasha appeared with a trunk.

"It was mine when I went to school. I thought it would be better to put all of your things inside it rather than bring them on separate bags."

Indeed, their proposal was better. I already had packed in different bags that I found during the years in the old attic. Some were plastic, others made of fabric, but almost torn. The only decent thing I had was my messenger bag (covered with colorful patches), but I already had the books in there.

"Thank you!" I yelled, surprising her when I returned with six plastic bags and three of fabric, and on my shoulder carrying my small backpack.

* * *

I awoke exactly at six o' clock in the morning, but that was because a bird had crashed into my window.

Groaning, I pulled my covers over my head, with one eye peering half heartily at the small clock wall above the post near the stairs. My peering eye looked away until they looked onto my handmade calendar.

_September 1__st_

A smile appeared on my face, which only widened my eye when my trunk found near the window.

Too excited, I checked my Hogwarts list at least three times until I was completely sure I had everything with me. After that, I made sure of locking all my things with key on one of the forgotten wardrobes on the dark side of the attic: I could bet Carol and her gang would try to enter up here and steal my things or either break them.

I decided to just wear the skirt, a white buttoned shirt, and the black stockings from the uniform. They were the less suspicious of all the set, and in the train, I would put the rest. Besides that, I choose to wear a yellow faded jacket and my favorite (and only pair of shoes, mind you) white Nike tennis shoes.

One hour later, Natasha arrived. Between the two of us, we carried the trunk carefully though all the stairs until we finally came down to the first floor.

Mrs. Darcy was there already, with a smile so bright, the first real one I had ever seen on years. It spooked me a bit, but nothing could dampen my happy mood. Not even Carol, who was hiding on the doorway leading to the Guest room with a sneer.

"Barton, I am going to give you a bit of advice," said Darcy. "Don't try to get expelled. If you are, don't think of coming back. _Ever_."

From her 'hidden' place, Carol smugly grinned, clearly thinking I was going to get expelled the first day of classes because of my "freakiness".

"Don't worry," I assured. "I will try to not return sooner until next year. I promise."

And before she could catch the double meaning, I turned to Natasha and we both walked outside of St. Louise's.

An unknown feeling of freedom spread through my mind, and unconsciously I raised my head up to the sky. The sun was shining brightly today, and for the first time in many years, I didn't consider that as a bad omen.

* * *

Opening the door of Natasha's silver Volkswagen Jetta of 1984, I looked over at King's Cross Station building, which it resembled one of the wings of the Buckingham castle.

With a bit of trouble, Natasha and I loaded my trunk onto a cart by almost five minutes – that's it, until she remembered she had her wand with her, she then ordered me to watch out for onlookers, and then Levitated it.

I wheeled the cart pass platforms one, two, five, until we walked to nine. The next platform was ten, and there was no signal of nine and three-quarters at all. The fear of this all being a big joke returned and I pulled out the train ticket and – _no_. Clearly written in gold letters, it said _Platform 9¾_, _Hogwarts Express._

"Natasha – we aren't on the wrong station, are we?"

"Nope," she was discreetly following the passing people with her eyes. "It is here. Why?"

"Well, for starters, I don't see the Platform."

"Of course you don't!" she scoffed. "The Muggles would be suspicious if a Platform labeled as _Nine and three-quarters _suddenly appeared. No, no, no – what you have to do is pass through the barrier."

My eyes widened. Feeling stupid, I turned around on my spot, muttering, "What barrier?"

"There's a secret barrier between the Ninth and Tenth Platform. All you have to do is walk through it, but I recommend you to take a bit of a run. Don't worry," she added hastily once she noticed my horrified expression, "you're not going to crash into it. Really_, I promise_."

I pushed my trolley around to face the barrier. It looked very solid.

With a last look at Natasha's reassuring smile, I broke into a sprint, all the way thinking _"Please don't be solid!"_

Closing my eyes, I readied myself for the pain of the crash. Except… there wasn't any crash of sorts.

Daring to believe it, I opened my eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts' Express, eleven o'clock. I looked behind me and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. Fascinated by the sight, I pushed my cart away.

Kids ran everywhere, saying goodbye to their parents, others were yelling and laughing about a joke involving a Banshee. On other side, a dark skinned boy with dreadlocks was grinning smugly to a group of – I think they were all thirteen year olds. He was holding a box, and his friends were begging him to open it.

"Ready then," I felt a hand on my shoulder, "Let's find you a compartment." I nodded.

I pushed off my cart down the platform, with Natasha following slightly behind me. The small group surrounding the dreadlocks' boy had increased, and then the girls shrieked when he opened the lid of the box. After seeing a long hairy leg poking outside, I hurried away from them, luckily passing the crowd. But I also had forgotten Natasha was following, so I had to wait for her to finally get through.

* * *

We found a compartment almost at the end of the train. Thankfully, Natasha just Levitated the trunk once more at the corner of the compartment. Once she did, we both stood awkwardly in front of each other, not knowing what to say. Feeling braver, I was the first one to react and jumped on her, hugging Natasha around the waist.

She stiffened at the contact, but then her body slowly relaxed, and I felt her surround me with her arms, one hand slowly stroking my hair.

Last two weeks didn't matter to me anymore. She had always been there when I needed her; she had helped me much with Darcy, and even tried to give me a bit of a normal life when we decorated my attic, knowing full well that I was anything but _normal_. Natasha was the closest figure I could relate to family: she was my unofficial mum.

"I am going to miss you," I told her quietly. The loud noise suffocated my words, but I was pretty sure she had heard me.

"Me too. I'll try to owl you soon," she said. When she said Owl you, she meant she was going to write me a letter, sending it through an owl. She assured me Hogwarts had their own tower for Owl Post for those who didn't have them, or for pet owls to rest.

A whistle was heard.

"_All aboard!"_

"I better get down," Natasha said. Nodding, I watched sadly as she disappeared through the crowd, her long scarlet hair lost through the heaps of people.

"_Oof_!"

Looking outside the compartment's window door, I noticed someone trying to drag a trunk by himself. Standing up, I opened the door.

"Hey," I called. The person raised its head. I almost blushed for not having noticed that she was girl too. She had wild bushy brown hair, brown eyes and through her muttering, I saw she had large front teeth too. The girl already was wearing the school uniform.

"Would you like me to help you? We can share compartment if you want to," I told her earnestly. Inside, I was a bundle of nerves. What if she said no? What if she thought I was weird for asking? Or what if I annoyed her for just interfering on her task?

All of that disappeared when her face broke into relief. "Yes, please!"

I went to grab the other handgrip, and we both lifted it barely. Imagine trying to do it when you're small and your companion is the same.

Meanwhile, the girl started to animatedly talk.

"Oh, it's really a miracle you appeared! I was worried I would get stumped here on the corridor once the train started moving. You see, my parents are Muggles, and unfortunately they couldn't pass the barrier at all. It's really annoying to carry this trunk, which is only full of my books, if you like it, I would lend them to you once we are on Hogwarts. Oh, how rude of me! My name is Hermione Granger, and you are -?"

She said all of this very fast.

"The name's Barton. Anya Barton," I told her, holding back a chuckle.

"That sounds a bit like James Bond, doesn't it?" Hermione said. I laughed.

"Now that I think of it, it really does!"

We both laughed. The trunk already was inside the compartment, but we had a small problem.

"Er – do you have any idea how are going to place my trunk up there?" asked Hermione. I shook my head.

"No, sorry. Mine was Levitated up there."

Hermione's eyes practically bulged out, and she made an excited sound.

"Does that mean your family is full of wizards? I read about the Levitation spell, it sure sounds a little difficult, but according to the _Standard Book of Spells_, we are going to learn it this year early."

"Um no. The lady that left me here _was_ a Witch, but we aren't related," I said a little awkward.

"Really? Where are your parents? They didn't want to accompany you, or they were busy?"

"Ah – no. None of that. I don't have parents," I told her cautiously.

Hermione practically stopped moving, flushing brightly.

"I – um, I'm sorry. I didn't know, really –"

I smiled at her soothingly.

"Don't sweat it. You said your parents were Muggles?"

* * *

An hour later, both Hermione and I sat on the same place, a huge amount of candy and treats spread out between us as we picked through it and ate random bits. We decided to make a research about the Wizarding Candy, and the difference between them and the Muggle type.

"My parents are dentists," Hermione said after she licked one of her Sugar Quills. "They don't let me eat sweets unless they are sugar-free."

"Must have been torture for you," I commented. "I usually eat sweets most of the time. It gets a bit tiresome, but right now, I could care less. I mean," I grinned at her, "what's the possibility of eating Magical Candy sooner this year?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, you're right."

"Do you know in what House you will be in?" she asked half an hour later. We already had talked about the school books (Hermione had read all of them and almost recited them word by word) and which classes sounded interesting. She had said that Transfiguration sounded more fascinating than Potions, but that Charms was the most that she understood. I told her that I just hoped I would pass the year with worthy scores.

"I don't know, but I think I am going to end in Hufflepuff," I said with a bit of a grimace, remembering a pair of redhead twins saying to a group of first years only duffers end there.

"Well, I hope I end in Gryffindor," Hermione said. "I've been asking around, and so far, it sounds like the best."

"That or they just said 'No, we are the bests!'" I mocked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, but still. If not, I suppose ending in Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad."

The compartment door opened, and quite unnecessary, they knocked onto its window quietly.

"He – hello," the boy stuttered. He was round-faced and had a mop of brown hair.

"Have you seen a toad around here?" he spoke timidly, looking on the verge of tears.

We shook our heads. He looked like he was going to cry right now.

"But we can help you finding him!" piped Hermione. I stared at her incredulously before sighing, and standing up. The boy thanked us over and over until we packed away the rest of our candy.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said outside in the corridor.

"Anya Barton," I closed the door.

"Th- thank you again for your help. I'm Neville Longbottom."

* * *

We firstly searched on his compartment, where we met a sandy-haired boy with an Irish accent and his dark-skinned friend. I asked them about Trevor (Neville's toad), but they hadn't seen him too. They offered to help and search him, but I politely declined their offer.

Hermione and Neville had gone to the end of the train while I decided to start on Neville's compartment at the middle of the machine. Ridiculously, I knelt on the floor and crawled looking for him.

"Trevor… Trevor… here, froggy froggy… your master is quite sad, and he's worried if something happens to you…"

"Well well," a high-pitched voice said, "I didn't know Hogwarts let barmy children study there. Father mentioned Dumbledore was daft, but this is ridiculous!"

I raised my head, glaring at him. It was a blond pale boy, with all his hair slicked back, making him look stupid. On each side of him, were two thick boys looking extremely mean. They almost looked like his bodyguards.

"Take that back," I said in a low tone. The blond boy snorted.

"As if! I bet you are a Mudblood," his eyes raked my form, making a small blush appear on my face. "You certainly look like one."

"Excuse me?" I was outraged. What the hell did Mudblood mean? Besides, he reminded me a lot of Carol. Even they both were blonds; except this boy looked like he was born with the sneer on his face.

"Barmy and deaf," he chuckled. "Perfect combination for you. Come on," he said to his bodyguards. "She's not worthy. Let's keep looking." The blond boy almost stepped on my hand, had I not stood quickly. However, I wasn't that lucky, as his big apes almost knocked me over by bumping on my shoulders.

I continued to stare after them.

"Wha –" I scowled, my cheeks puffing out in annoyance. "What a brat!"

Scowling and muttering all the way, I returned to Neville's compartment.

Neville was standing outside, leaning against the door, and when he saw me, his eyes lightened up in hope. It broke my heart seeing his disheartened expression when I shook my head.

"Where's Hermione?" I asked him.

"Well –"

The sound of muttering reached my ears, and sure enough, Hermione appeared behind him, wearing a scowl.

"I was just trying to help them and then that Ron Weasley had to be rude. Ooh, he practically tol me to nose out! And he still had dirt on his nose –"

"Hermione?"

She stopped on her tracks, only just noticing we were there.

"Annie," she turned fully on me, making step back in surprise, "are boys normally thickheaded?"

I blinked. I wasn't pretty sure from where that question came from, so I didn't knew how to answer… but then I remembered the blond boy sneering down at me and clearly stating I was stupid.

"So far, I think Neville is the only boy who I like so far."

I didn't notice there was a double meaning on my words, but Neville sure did and Hermione giggled when he started to blush madly.

"But why do you say that?" I asked her curiously. The scowl returned.

"It's not important. But hey," she then brightened considerably, "do you know who is in the train?"

"Um, no?"

She rolled her eyes. "_Harry Potter_. Neville and I met him when we asked if they had seen Trevor."

"He was very polite," said Neville as an afterthought.

But I just stared blankly at them.

"_Potter_… the name rings…"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"You haven't heard about Harry Potter? But it's written about him _Modern Magical History_, _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_!"

"I don't have those books," I told her blankly. Then a memory came, making me snap my fingers. "Ah! I remember from where! We bought our wands at the same time."

Hermione looked ready to faint but it was Neville who voiced their shock.

"You don't know about Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived?"

Looking between them, I slowly shook my head.

"Annie!" Hermione was scandalized, with Neville gaping a little but not looking as shocked as her.

A voice echoed through the train:_ "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."_

"Oh no!" I exclaimed, looking down at my clothes. "I haven't changed yet!"

With a hurried goodbye to Neville and an apolog0y for not finding Trevor, I ran from them to our original compartment, with Hermione hot on my trail.

Although I was preoccupied to end up naked or either be left on the train, one thought registered on my mind, and I didn't find it so mortifying if I don't managed to change into my uniform in time:

Because I was one step away from Hogwarts.


	10. The Sorting Hat

Miraculously, I did manage to change in time. However, Hermione helped me with my tie because I was almost chocking myself with it. I felt the train slowly come to a stop, and Hermione and I had to brace ourselves in our seats.

Seeing as I had delayed us a bit, the corridor outside was less crowded than a few minutes ago. It wasn't necessary to push our way forcefully (thank god), so we just stepped out of the train down to a dark small platform. Shivering, I pulled closer my robe around myself. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hermione giddily watching everything – or at least what she could see on the darkness.

A light shone dimly above our heads, a voice booming to us, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

It was Hagrid the giant man, carrying an old lamp, which was bobbing over the students at the front. He was beaming down to all of us.

"C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, we followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. The trees on each side of our narrow path were thick enough to engulf us in the darkness. Hermione and I kept a tight hold on each other's hands to not stumble into something or someone.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

We rounded the corner with the last pair of trees, and I heard all of the students let out a loud, "Oooooh!"

I certainly couldn't blame them. We had come to the edge of a great black lake, but I was paying attention to the other side of it. It was a huge castle perched carefully above a huge rocky mountain, and the water seemed to be surrounding it like a lone island. The towers stood high above the building, seeming like they fit on an endless jigsaw of buildings. The twinkling lights from one large room in particular were reflected in the lake, almost like a halo of floating lanterns.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

We waited until the line to reduce a little bit until they were two boats left, each of them with just one empty place.

"Barton!"

It was the sandy-haired boy. He and his friend, along with a girl with red hair, were sitting on the second- to-last boat.

"Here! Sit with us!"

Sharing a sad glance with Hermione, I waved at her and said, "See you up there."

Nodding dejectedly, Hermione went to join Neville and Harry Potter, and another boy who had red hair and was tall. He immediately scowled when he saw Hermione sitting with them. Rolling my eyes at the childish attitude, I went to join the friendly boy's boat.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats started moving off all at once, gliding across the dark lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It loomed over us as we sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it was settled.

"Heads down!" Hagrid yelled as the first boats reached the cliff; we all bent our heads and the little boats carried us through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the face of the cliff. We were carried through a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking us right underneath the castle, until we reached a kind of underground harbor, where we clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oi, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, running forward and holding out his hands. I felt my eye twitch a bit. The frog had swum all across the lake by itself?

We clambered up a passageway in the rocks, following Hagrid's lamp. We came out, at last, onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

We walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, the sound rattling the wooden surface. The doors immediately swung open and Professor McGonagall spared all of us a glance with a stern face. This time though, she was wearing emerald-green robes and a black pointed hat with a matching emerald belt on it. she certainly looked more comfortable now that she did not wore a suit.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She then led us inside and I couldn't help but gape at the size of it. The whole St. Louise's building could have fit in perfectly, and it had three floors. The only light were the flaming torches lined up against the stone walls. McGonagall made us walk pass a grand marble staircase that must have led to the upper floors of the castle. The drone of hundreds of voices drifting from my right called my attention, and tilted my head, catching sight of a large doorway with two torch pillars on each side, both carved with the Hogwarts crest and stone owls glued on their four edges.

We followed McGonagall into a small empty chamber off the Hall, and once everyone was inside, she turned to face us.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the red haired-boy's, whose nose was smudged. Harry Potter tried to discreetly flatten his hair, but then all of it sprang up. I stepped up and silently tugged Neville's cloak down. McGonagall raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my action, but then she was stern again.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

With another glance, she silently left the chamber. The moment she closed the door, all the First years began to talk at once.

"Thanks," mumbled Neville shyly, turning to face me but his eyes downcast. I smiled awkwardly.

"No problem."

"Do you both have any idea how they sort us?" asked Hermione, appearing out of the tight small crowd.

"Wasn't written on one of your books?" I asked. She shook her head.

"No," she was horrified. Scared out of her guts, she began muttering spells and incantations she read and began pacing in our small corner. Sighing, I turned to ask Neville if he had any idea how they sorted us, but he wasn't there anymore. Instead, I was met by the glares of almost all the kids on the room. Except they weren't glaring at me but at Hermione, apparently thinking that would shut her up. I scowled at them, and a few had the decency to look away.

A string of apologies caught my attention, but when I was going to see the problem, I was nearly knocked onto the floor by a red-faced Neville.

"Neville, where were you?" I hissed quietly, ignoring the sniggering students across us forming a circle.

"Investigating," he panted. "I heard Ron Weasley say his brother told him they made a sort of a painful test. Probably wrestling a troll, he said."

Hermione stopped short for a second, making nearby students sigh in relief at her silence. But Neville's words seemed to have gotten through her head and only began whispering much faster than before.

"Neville, I don't think they'll do that," I said exasperatedly. "I mean – we're first years! We know nothing about spells."

Hermione then decided to nearly whisper-shout in panic.

"But what if he's right? What if they want to see if we are deemed worthy of being students here?"

Neville paled considerably. I snorted.

"Yeah, I see it. Gryffindor whoever manages to knock it out; Hufflepuff if you find something to hit it with; Ravenclaw that who confuses it with his knowledge; and if you sneak away unscathed, then you are a Slytherin," I rolled my eyes. "I still don't think it has to be like that."

"But An –AHH!"

I jumped. Not only Neville and Hermione had yelled, but several people in front of us did.

I was too shocked to actually scream or try to run. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room, talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What appeared to be a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost-I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights suddenly noticed the scared First Years, but none of us answered him.

"New students!" The Fat Friar exclaimed jovially. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few of the other students around us nodded, mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall the Friar waving happily at us.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall ordered, "and follow me."

Hermione had to push me gently to pull me out of my shock.

"Hermione, I think I just saw dead people," I whispered.

She nodded eagerly, "Yes, we all did!"

"That doesn't reassure me much, you know," I begrudgingly told her quietly as I got behind her.

We walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and this time, through the large pair of double doors we had passed before.

Whatever I had imagined how Hogwarts looked wasn't as I thought it would be. It was _wonderful_.

Thousands and thousands of candles floating in mid-air lit up the entire room. Older children than us were already sat on four long tables, and curiously, each student on their own table had their robes colored in specific colors: Red, Blue, Yellow and Green. Glittering golden plates and goblets were laid on the tables. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led us up there, coming to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. Trying to ignore the gazes of the students, I looked up at the ceiling – only to not find one. Instead, I was met by the sight of a starry night sky, with clouds and mist added.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," whispered Hermione, as if sensing my awed expression. "I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

"Really? Must be synchronized with the weather then," I commented dryly, but a small smile gracing my face.

I looked down when the sound of footsteps echoed loudly. Professor McGonagall had placed a four-legged stool in front of us. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty, more so than the dark side of my attic.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
_I'll eat myself if you can find_  
_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_  
_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_  
_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
_The Sorting Hat can't see,_  
_So try me on and I will tell you_  
_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_  
_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_  
_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
_Where they are just and loyal,_  
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_  
_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
_if you've a ready mind,_  
_Where those of wit and learning,_  
_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
_You'll make your real friends,_  
_Those cunning folk use any means_  
_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
_And don't get in a flap!_  
_You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" I heard someone whisper furiously on the front of the line. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Although I had said there wasn't going to be a Troll, I was quite relieved to be right. It wasn't reassuring to put the Hat in front of all the Hogwarts population, but it was better than try to show your magical ability.

When all the applause died down, Professor McGonagall came forward holding a very long piece of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A girl with blond hair on pigtails stumbled out of the line and nervously walked up to the stool. She took a seat on it and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right with the yellow robes cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down with them.

"Barton, Anya!"

I scowled slightly.

"It had to be my luck, didn't it?" I muttered bitterly as I walked over McGonagall. I turned my head down, trying to ignore the eager faces of those sitting on their tables.

On my way, I caught Mr. Dumbledore's eyes. He was sitting at the high table, in the middle on a large golden chair. Like Professor McGonagall, he wasn't wearing a suit this time. Instead, he wore a long deep purple robe with tiny golden stars on it and a deep red pointed hat on the same style as the fabric. The old man sent me a comforting smile, and I couldn't help but answer in the same way. Once I sat on the stool, McGonagall gave me a don't-be-scared look, and then everything went dark.

"What we have here?" a voice muttered beside my ear, making me jump a little. "The third Barton to have come to Hogwarts. You are as difficult as the last two. But let's see… hmm… ah, the thirst of knowledge, and you have wit. Perfect for Ravenclaw. But there's also your cunning side, the desire to be acknowledged by everyone. Ohh… let's not forget your perfect ability to talk to snakes…"

_How did you know that?_ I demanded loudly on my head. The Hat seemed to chuckle.

"Child, I can see _everything_ on that head of yours… but where shall I put you?"

_Not Slytherin_, I thought panicked._ Anything but Slytherin._

"Are you sure? You could do great things there. It could help you accomplish your greatest ambition… make everyone see who the real you is… No? Very well then, let's see your other options. You're loyal, I grant you that – and hardworking too, but not enough to belong on Hufflepuff. You have determination, I see… if not, how is it that you have survived all these years by your own…?"

_I had help_, I thought unhelpfully.

"Yes, I know that. But everything was on your side… you have been really brave, haven't you? Even after all their teasing, you still have your head on your shoulders… I congratulate you. Not even _he_ managed to accomplish that on his youth…"

_Who is this _he_? What do you mean?_

"Ah, you'll see… now, returning to the matters at hand, I still think you belong to either Ravenclaw or Slytherin…"

I frowned sadly.

"What's that dear? You do not like my decision? You think you're not worthy of the great Salazar Slytherin's House, or to have the cleverness Rowena Ravenclaw always wished her students to have?"

_I just want to know everything about my family. I want to know who they were… where they were… why did they die…_

"See? You have thirst for knowledge!" The Hat sighed. "But what you wish to know… neither Slytherin nor Ravenclaw would help you at all."

_Are you going to chuck me out?!_

"HA!" The Sorting Hat huffed indignantly. "I said Ravenclaw and Slytherin can't help you, not that you cannot study here! _Now_ I know where to put you… but I warn you, the secrets you uncover, they are nothing the sort of satisfying at all. Are you sure you'll manage?"

Taking a deep breath, I nodded determinately. _Yes._

"Very well, then… I hope you chose the right choice Barton… GRYFFINDOR!"

The table on the far left wearing the red colored robes exploded with cheers.

_Thank you._

I beamed at McGonagall, who wore a proud smile when I gave her the Hat. A set of red-haired twins were cat-calling loudly when I sat, making me blush furiously and hid my head down my crossed arms.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws – whom they all wore blue colored robes – stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the second new Gryffindor, giving the twins a reason to continue catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. The table on the far right didn't explode with cheers, but instead just clapped wearing smug faces, their green colored robes emphasizing their mean looks. The whole lot looked like a bunch of snobs. The next who was sorted into Slytherin was "Crabbe, Vincent," whom I recognized as one of the blond boy's bodyguards. "Dunbar, Fay," became the third Gryffindor that night.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

As Seamus Finnigan, the sandy-haired boy from before, was sorted, I noticed no one but me had taken long enough to be put on a House. The longest beside mine was precisely Seamus', who lasted at least a whole minute until the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Goyle, Gregory," was the other bodyguard who was sent to Slytherin. He met his fellow partner and both stared down at their plates with a longing expression.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

I cheered and clapped loudly, until Hermione ran and jumped on the seat across me.

"Congratulations Hermione!" I exclaimed. She beamed proudly.

When Neville was called, he fell on his way over at the stool. The Hat took a long time to decide, but curious of all, it seemed that Neville was arguing with it. Finally, it shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" BUT UNFORTUNATELY, Neville was still wearing the hat, and he had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

I patted his back when he sat beside me red-faced.

"It could have happened to everyone," I told him pitifully.

"Malfoy, Draco," was the rude blond boy from before, and not surprisingly, was sent to Slytherin the moment the hat barely touched him.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon"… , "Nott"… , "Parkinson"… , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"… , then "Perks, Sally-Anne"… , and then, at last —

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry Potter stepped forward, students started to whisper and hiss at each other.

"Potter, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The whispers quickly died down as McGonagall came forward and placed the hat over his head. The entire Hall silently waited with anticipation as to where Harry Potter was going to be sorted. Minutes started to pass by, and the students, now being quieter, began to wonder as to what was taking the hat so long. The rip near the brim opened wide, and it shouted:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Until now, Potter had received the loudest cheer any of the rest of the First year students received. As the red-haired twins shouted, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" the boy himself seemed to shakily walk over us, and a tall thin boy with red hair (how many red haired people were here?) wearing a badge with a P stood up and eagerly shook hands with him, clearly trying to look formal and not demonstrate his own excitement. Even the ghost with the ruff had gone and patted Potter on the arm, passing it through it.

There were only three people left. "Dean Thomas", the dark-skinned friend of Finnigan, was sorted into Gryffindor too. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw; the tall red haired boy was "Weasley, Ronald," and ended sorted on Gryffindor too. Lastly came "Zabini, Blaise," which from all the Slytherins, didn't seem to be wearing a scowl, but just merely bored.

Looking down at the empty plate, I wondered where the food was.

Mr. Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students; his arms open wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. I snorted at his choice of words but I couldn't help but grin widely. Dumbledore caught my eye and he merrily winked. Still smiling, I looked down at the table and my mouth dropped open.

Mounds and mounds of food were scattered all down the table on big gold plates. Roast chicken, pork chops, bacon and steak, mashed potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, corn, carrots, gravy, and ketchup, all in the same place. And what was a little embarrassingly, I was the only one who was gaping shamelessly at the food. Trying to not look out of place, I began to take a bit of everything and put it on my plate.

S.t Louise's wasn't exactly poor, but it had extract expectations concerning the girls' diet. Mainly, all of them had to eat the portion they gave them. It was always enough, but never for me. Mrs. Darcy in annoyance towards me sometimes didn't even feed me. Natasha always brought something with her to keep in emergency, or she sneaked food, but my maintenance was mainly made of candies.

I cut a piece of sausage and took a bit. Smiling, I realized it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. Humming appreciatively, I began to take more bites.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly as he watched Harry cut up his steak.

"Can't you —?" said Potter.

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron Weasley suddenly. "My brothers told me about you — you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would _prefer _you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy —" the ghost began stiffly, but Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"_Nearly _Headless? How can you be _nearly _headless?"

Looking extremely annoyed and offended, Sir Nicholas said, "Like _this_."

And then he pulled from his left ear, his head rolling onto his shoulder.

My fork fell away. I suddenly wasn't too hungry anymore.

I could see… everything. A small part of his skin was still attached to his head, working almost as a lid. The cut flesh, although it seemed eerie, still looked as if it was bleeding. The bone supposed to hold his head was swiftly cut, and I unfortunately could see the veins on it.

Pleased at the reactions he got, Sir Nick flipped his head back, and with a cough, he continued to talk as if he had just not showed us how he died.

"So — new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable — he's the Slytherin ghost."

I looked over the Slytherin table and saw a horrible figure sitting with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Draco Malfoy whom wasn't very happy with his company.

"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus asked with great interest.

"I've never asked," Nearly Headless Nick said delicately.

When everyone had had as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the platters and plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. It was another moment before the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor invented, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As everyone helped their desserts, the talk turned to families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

"That's kind of barbaric, isn't it?" I frowned. "They could've hurt you."

"I wouldn't worry much about that," said Neville. "Actually, I was sort of relieved as my Gran was."

"Still…"

"What 'bout you, Barton?" asked Seamus. I blinked, and turned thoughtful as to what saying.

"Well, I discovered I was a witch this last summer. Mr. Dum – I mean, one of the teachers came to fetch me to Diagon Alley."

"So, you are a Muggleborn too?" said Dean Thomas eagerly.

"No, I don't think so," I said quietly. "I am not sure actually."

"How can't you be so sure?" exclaimed Weasley (Ron). Hermione broke from her conversation with the boy with the badge to frown disapprovingly at him.

"I lived in an Orphanage," I said ruefully.

They fell silent. Dean Thomas cleared his throat loudly, and began talking about – how did he call it? – Quidditch, the tension dissipating with his cheerful conversation. I sent him a grateful smile, and he answered by passing me a piece of treacle tart.

"Ouch!" Potter exclaimed suddenly, clapping a hand to his forehead. He was looking at the high table, and following his gaze, I watched as a man wearing a purple turban talked to another man, this one with extremely greasy black hair with a hooked nose, and very sallow skin. He seemed to be bored of hearing his companion.

"What is it?" asked the badge boy.

"N-nothing. Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" Potter asked.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to — everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the red-haired twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A few laughed, but I didn't even crack-up a smile.

Was he serious?

"He's not serious?" I heard Potter mutter, who was one of the few who laughed.

"He must be. It is odd though since he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go anywhere-the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least," said the Prefect boy.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore cried. I noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave a small flick of his wand, as though trying to get a fly or other insect off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above their heads and twisted itself, almost snakelike, to make words.

"Now, everyone pick their favorite tune," Dumbledore said, "and off we go!"

And the whole school bellowed together:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_  
_Teach us something please,_  
_Whether we be old and bald_  
_Or young with scabby knees,_  
_Our heads could do with filling_  
_With some interesting stuff,_  
_For now they're bare and full of air,_  
_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_  
_So teach us things worth knowing,_  
_Bring back what we've forgot,_  
_just do your best, we'll do the rest,_  
_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Instead of singing, I said the song as if it was a poem. It was very off tune how everyone on the Great Hall sang that it was a bloody miracle we didn't break the windows. The last ones to end singing were the twins, who sang a very slow funeral march. It was quite funny to watch Mr. Dumbledore direct them with his wand, and so more when he was the only one who clapped the loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Prefect led us Gryffindor first years through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. Even though I was quite tired, I didn't let my eyes fall close. As we climbed the stairs, the rest of the first years watched and pointed to each of the pictures, each moving and responding to them. On painting was of a girl in a white dress which smiled down at them and curtsied, smiling particularly at Potter who walked in front of me.

The Prefect of Gryffindor led us twice through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. We climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging our feet, when we came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of us and as our guide took a step towards them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," the Prefect whispered to us. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice to speak to this ghost, "Peeves-show yourself."

A loud, rather rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, was the answer.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide, smiling mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" He cackled evilly. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He made a sudden swoop, making us duck.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" the Prefect barked angrily.

The ghost's response was sticking his tongue out at him and then dropped the walking sticks on Neville's head, vanishing. We all could hear him zooming away, hitting coats of armor as he passed. Neville was left rubbing his head, looking tearful.

"You'll want to watch out for Peeves," Percy said as we set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can really control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Ah, here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of an extremely fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" She asked.

"_Caput Draconis_," the Prefect replied, at which the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. We all scrambled through it – Neville needing a leg up – and found ourselves in the Gryffindor common room, a round, cozy room full of squashy armchairs.

"Gather 'round here," the Prefect said. "Welcome to the Gryffindor Common Room. Boys' dormitories, upstairs and down to your left. Girls, the same on your right. You'll find that your belongings have already been brought up."

At the top of a spiral staircase-where we were obviously in one of the towers-we found our beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. The bottom end had carved each our initials, not repeating accidently. Like the Prefect had said, our trunks were already there.

After we presented ourselves, Lavender Brown immediately set off talking about who the cute boys were, among them Harry Potter. Hermione, whose' bed was on my right, rolled her eyes. However, Fay Dunbar stated clearly that an older student from the Hufflepuff table was the most handsome of all. That did make me roll my eyes. Lavender, Faye and Parvati Patil remained chattering about boys while Hermione and I changed to our pajamas.

"Night Hermione," I said quietly.

"Goodnight Annie."

Until now, I hadn't noticed that since I told her my name was Anya, Hermione had been calling me "Annie". Somehow, it made me happy to be not referred as _Anya_ anymore. Because she was my past self; Annie was the witch who came to discover the truth about herself.

With that satisfying thought, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow.


	11. First Week on Hogwarts

At five o'clock in the morning, a loud annoying sound had woken the First year Girls' Dormitory. It was Hermione Granger's clock, whose alarm had been scheduled to wake her up early. She didn't count with four sleepy annoyed girls who all tossed pillows at her bed, grumbling moodily about what was on her mind.

Parvati had gotten back her pillow to continue sleeping, while Lavender just plainly fell asleep. Fay however, decided to start unpacking her things. Hermione, although a little disheartened, began to shove her books on her satchel bag. Finally, I decided to first take a bath. Only God knows how I always needed one of those on _St. Louise's_ for long time periods.

Coming out of the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel, I began to unpack my own things. Like stated before, I had my backpack with my books and because I wasn't sure what our classes would be going to be, I decided to carry all of them today. I began to look for my uniform, but it wasn't packed. Panicking, I began to throw out everything on my bed. Had I forgotten it? What if it still was on St. Louise's? I would have to owl Natasha later, but what if she didn't receive it? And still, I didn't know where the Owlery was!

Jumping from under my bed, I decided to bolt outside –

When I finally noticed a wardrobe beside my four-post bed. The door was slightly ajar.

Stumbling on my feet, the towel (which had fallen on my crazy pursuit) held tightly against my left ankle, I opened the wardrobe. And there it was. Hung up and ironed, my new uniform was already prepared.

Except it didn't look like the one I had before. For starters, the lining inside the black robe had turned red. In the front on the right side, was knitted the Gryffindor crest. My tie – which had been initially gray and black – was red and gold. And my V-neck jumper had been colored with red on the cuffs and the waist line, the sleeveless jumper too.

I gently rubbed the crest's knitting. It was perfectly similar to the drawing down in the common room. How it could have changed, when I had locked it on the trunk?

"This is seriously some magic," I muttered.

* * *

Seeing as we had plenty of time left, Hermione dragged me to the first place she had babbled about in the morning: the library. Apparently, she had asked Percy Weasley (the Gryffindor Prefect) yesterday night the correct directions to go. Percy had written all of them on a napkin.

The room itself was a labyrinth. The shelves almost touched the ceiling with their size. If the book you wanted was on the very top, the book would glow pink and flow straight to the student who asked for it. There were special sections were tables were laid for the students to do their homework, each with a lamp; some shelves had tables glued to them as well.

Hermione giddily had run around, trying to not make any sound in fear of annoying Madam Pince, the librarian. I, however, had gotten on her bad side at the first try. I was walking around to explore, when I found this part of the library, which was surrounded by bars like a small cage. Pince found me quickly and told me off from the _"Restricted Section"_.

From there, we easily found our way to the Great Hall and ate alongside Neville, with a usual greeting from Seamus and Dean.

But the next day we tried to found it coming right away from the common room was a complete disaster. According to _Hogwarts: A History_, the castle had a hundred and forty-two staircases: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump.

Then there were the doors. I thought we had gotten the right way, but it didn't open. I knocked loudly for about a minute – until Peeves appeared though the door, grabbed my nose and screamed "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Since then, Hermione decided it was better and safe to as Percy the directions to each class. I didn't contradict her: as long as didn't have to meet either Peeves, or caretaker Argus Filch with his cat, Mrs. Norris, I was going to follow her.

And there was another fact that annoyed me to no end.

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

I _still_ don't know why Harry Potter is so famous, but I only am sure that he has to take care of the older girls. Whispers followed him the moment he exited the common room. People lined up outside classrooms standing on their tiptoes to get a good look at him, or they doubled back to pass him on the corridors, staring directly at him without shame at all. Poor Potter didn't seem comfortable enough with it, and as much as Ron Weasley tried to get them away yelling, it never worked well.

In fact, these "fans" were blocking our way the fourth day of classes. My eye started to twitch in annoyance: Hermione politely asked if they could move, but a few seemed to listen to her. The others just stayed on their places, some scowling in annoyance.

What particularly made me mad was when a Fifth year said to her, "Don't nag," and I snapped.

"OI, PEOPLE! MOVE IT! CANT YOU SEE YOU'RE MAKING HIM LATE FOR CLASS? AS A MATTER OF FACT, I AM LATE TOO, BECAUSE OF YOU LOT!"

"_Annie_!" hissed Hermione on embarrassment, grabbing my backpack from behind and tugging on it. A pointless move to stop me. Their gazes were on the two of us, but even blushing I wasn't going to back down.

"And besides, don't you all have classes at all?" I continued loudly. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs scattered away, while the most stubborn ones still stayed on their place. I could see that the few Slytherins who were there scowling or sneering at me.

Didn't matter to me what their reactions were, because the ones who moved had left the path clear. I could now see Potter and Weasley looking mildly shocked but relieved too.

"Now, let's get going 'Mione."

And before I forget, there were the classes themselves too. I was extremely pleased to find none of them were tricks of fake Muggle magic or funny sayings.

Every Wednesday at midnight, we had to study the darks sky through our telescopes and learn the names of the different stars and movements of the planets. I was particularly fond of Sirius, the brightest star on the night sky.

Another class was Herbology, in which we had to visit the Greenhouse One. It was taught by Professor Sprout, a tiny plump witch who had a preference with brown robes. By now, we had learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Neville seemed particularly good at this class. As for me… well, I managed to break a pot.

I was sure this wasn't going to be my best class at all.

There was History of Magic too. And the most boring of all. When I heard the Professor was a ghost, I imagined it would be more exciting and interesting to hear, assuming that he had been on one of those wars mentioned on the books. I was wrong: very _very_ wrong. Seamus heard that he was old when he fell asleep in front of the staffroom fire, and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind. We all are sure he isn't even aware that he died. The Weasley Twins had said that was the first thing they asked, and was the third detention they had gotten that day. Binns liked to drone on and on while we scribble down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up at least five times. Had it not been pointed by Hermione (Who Binns ignored), nobody would have finished their homework.

Professor Flitwick, our Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to just see over his desk. At the start of our first class he took roll call, and as soon as he reached Potter's name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of our sight.

Professor McGonagall was strict. I knew she would be like that… but no one should cross her at all. The moment we all sat down, she began to talk, not even waiting for us to take out our parchment and quills.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again.

I was almost jumping in excitement, bit then realized we weren't going to change any desk into animals for a long time. Starting with writing the complicated notes written on the blackboard, McGonagall proceeded to give each student a match, which we had to transfigure into a needle.

"It looks like a pick tooth," I complained to Hermione as I tapped it with my finger, wincing when a drop of blood dripped slowly down to my parchment. Childishly, I put it on my mouth, sucking the bitter metallic substance.

"Well, at least yours is a needle," Hermione said, inspecting her own match which had turned silver and pointy, but still a little piece of wood.

"Maybe, but yours doesn't have an identity crisis," I said as a matter of fact.

At the end of the class, Professor McGonagall showed all the class the result of our matches, giving a very rare smile to the both of us.

Finally, there was the class everyone had waited for: Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA for short. Sadly, Professor Quirrell turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, making me sway to the odd scent. Everyone said he did this to ward the room from a Vampire he had met in Romania, in fear of the creature coming back for him. The Turban Quirrell wore had been given to him by an African Prince as a thank you gift for getting rid of a zombie problem. The Weasley twins affirmed it smelled funny, and that it was possible he had put garlic inside it too.

"Professor," said Seamus Finnigan in curious awe, "How did you fought off the zombie? What did you do to get rid of him?"

Everyone waited for him to answer with bated breath. Professor Quirrell didn't answer; instead, he turned to the window, moved the curtain aside and said how lovely the weather was today.

Meanwhile, at the end of the last Thursday class, I had done my own research through the castle, looking out for the Owlery. Fortunately, I found it after two hours of endless search. It was located inside the castle on the West Tower. The room was circular, rather cold and drafty because of the lack of glass on the windows allowing the owls to come and go when they wanted. The floor was covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice. Many owls were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower.

On Wednesday during a free time, I sat there on one of the windows, particularly facing the Black Lake; I pulled out my Muggle notebook and my pen and began to write.

_Dear Natasha,_

_Hogwarts is very beautiful indeed, like you said. I thank you for not describing it to me, because it was better seeing it by myself. I was sorted into Gryffindor, but the Hat had said I mostly belonged to either Ravenclaw or Slytherin. From what Hermione told me, I sat seven minutes on a stool in front of all the students and the staff, calling me a Hatstall. I didn't tell her I wasn't even considered to be enough for Gryffindor. I told the Hat I wanted to know more about my parents, and after almost panicking because I thought he was going to chuck me out, he decided to sort me where I am now._

_Classes are very interesting though. We still haven't performed any spell on Charms, but I am hoping it will happen sooner; unfortunately, I broke a pot on Herbology. Bless Professor Sprout for her cleverness; she fixed it before the plant's roots could grab someone's foot. I almost fell asleep in History of Magic, but I was more preoccupied writing notes to do that. Astronomy isn't much interesting, but the only star I like is Sirius. Then there's Transfiguration: it's a lot of heavy work, but I think I do well on it. We started transforming matches to needles – mine looked like a tooth pick._

_DADA was a bit of a joke: the teacher doesn't stop stuttering at all, and when he is asked about his turban (it smells, by the way), he instantly starts talking about the weather. I don't like him. There's something suspicious about him that doesn't fit well. Either way, I can say nothing about Potions: this Friday is going to be the first class. I just can pray to not blow up a cauldron._

_As for friends, I met a girl named Hermione Granger shortly after you left. She's a Muggleborn and very smart too. Had it not been for her, I think I would have missed the first two subjects looking for the classroom. Though Peeves the Poltergeist scared me out of my guts when I tried to open a door. _

_Then there's the reason I almost get late to classes: Harry Potter. I met him when I got my wand, but we didn't make conversation. People like to line up outside their classrooms to get sight of him, though it seems Potter detest that. I don't know why he is famous, and each time Hermione is going to explain it, someone interrupt us. Do you know why? _

_It's cold up here on the Owlery. The Owls look like they are glaring at me for not being one of them. I better end this before one of them decides to bite me._

_Hoping to hear soon from you,  
Annie Barton._

* * *

It was Friday on the morning. My favorite time of the day: nothing wrong happens at that hour. Well, except we had Double Potions with Slytherin by the next hour. It was the only class we had with them, but I had learned through the week they aren't people to trust easily.

The sound of screeching reached our ears, announcing the arrival of mail. It had been a shock to suddenly realize an owl had almost crashed right next to my head, but it disappeared as the week went by.

A tawny old owl suddenly flew through and landed in front of both Hermione and I, digging his claws into the table, trying to not fell on any trade of food. I recognized as the owl I had used to send my letter to Natasha.

In fact, the owl offered me his leg, were a scarlet ribbon had an envelope attached to it. Smiling, I undid the knot and grabbed the letter, pouring some water on an empty plate and a large piece of bread on another.

"You'll spoil the owl too much," Hermione said, cooing as the tawny owl looked at her with curious brown eyes.

"Knowing from where this letter comes, I think he deserves it," I said.

_Dear Annie,_

_I must congratulate you! Both your parents were in Gryffindor, and I am positively sure they would be proud of you. As from being a Hatstall I wouldn't worry much about that, though I heard the last time it happened, it had been to both Professor McGonagall and Flitwick._

_I'm happy to hear you like your classes so far, and as for Potions, I don't think you will blow your cauldron… not at the first time actually. You see, your mother had a knack for making things explode, so I'm not sure if you inherited that from her._

_What it surprises me more is that you still haven't learned the story behind Harry Potter's popularity. As a matter of fact, the whole Wizarding knows about it. But if you haven't heard it by now (although I doub it), let me explain:_

_Twenty years ago, the Great Wizarding War happened. There was a wizard who called himself Voldemort, and his main goal was the search of power. He clearly believed that Muggle people (including wizards of the same origin) didn't deserve any type of magic, so he found people with the same beliefs and created a rebellion._

_People fought valiantly, but two particular people caught his eye. The Potters had defied him three times, and this apparently didn't please him at all. The family went into hiding, but there was spy within Dumbledore's ranks. He told the Dark Lord where to find them, and killed the Potters._

_However, what makes Harry Potter famous is… that Voldemort tried to kill him, but he couldn't. The scar on young Potter's forehead is the proof of that. The Death curse marked him, but he didn't die. Many powerful died at his hands, but he was stopped by a baby. Voldemort then disappeared._

_Rumor says he died, others often say he's alive but weak. Either way, the Wizarding World is thankful for it._

_I hope this answered your question. And I also suggest you to look at the surface, but better try to know him as he is. That boy has suffered enough in a lifetime: you should know the feeling._

_Write soon,  
Natasha._

_PS. If you ever need something, use this same owl to message me. His name is Otto._

When I folded the letter, something fell onto my plate. A torn piece of newspaper. It was very crumpled, but still, the date confirmed it was from yesterday.

Folding it carefully, I saw that there was supposed to be an image above, but only the feet – moving feet – were showing in black and gray.

_**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on July 31, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Frowning, I looked behind the paper. There was an announcement of the newest potion to make hair grow. I re-read Natasha's letter again, trying to find something explaining the reason of this. There was nothing.

"Um, hey, Hermione," I began awkwardly, "Did you know that there has been something stolen from Gringotts?"

She stopped cooing over Otto, and looked at me with wide eyes.

"Are you sure?" she asked eagerly. Nodding, I gave her the crumpled piece.

After reading it to herself aloud, she looked at me once more.

"That should be impossible." I raised an eyebrow.

"Why for?"

"Nobody, nobody _ever_, has achieved to infiltrate Gringotts before," she said. "Not until now, of course. How did you get this?"

"Was sent by Natasha," I told her quietly, noticing how both Harry Potter and Dean Thomas were looking at us.

"Did she told you why?" I shook my head. "That's odd."

"Tell me about it," I groaned. I looked over at the owl, which now looked satisfied full. "You can go Otto. If I need your help again, I'll go and visit you." Hooting, Otto stretched his wing and took fly.

Hermione checked her wrist watch. "We better get going. I heard Professor Snape is very strict on his class."

"Joy," I deadpanned. I wasn't looking forward to blowing up a cauldron on the first try. And less if it was a family trait.

* * *

The Potions class was located down in the castle's dungeons. The further down we went, the more coldly it became, but not as colder as the Owlery. All the windows were boarded by black curtains, not a single flicker of natural light entering the room. From what the small chandelier with candles could lighten us, I could see a variety of jars with parts of animals floating, thick old volumes, and something very nasty I can't even mention it sitting on the aged shelves.

Cauldrons were already waiting for us on the tables, and Hermione, sweet dear Hermione, lover of subjects, dragged me to sit on the front.

We didn't have to wait for him to arrive; as the last Slytherin took place at the back, the door opened and Professor Snape walked to the front, gave a piercing look around the dungeon, and grabbed a large old tattered book, beginning to take roll call.

Seeing as I am one of the first – the second actually – he raised an eyebrow, and then called my name. The moment he looked u and saw me with a raised hand, Professor Snape scowled and continued to call names. When he reached Potter's name, he paused for a moment.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — _celebrity_."

His voice was mocking, everyone could tell that. On the table on our left, Draco Malfoy and his goons sniggered loudly, as if the teacher had told a joke. Snape however, ignored them, continuing to call names until he reached for Zabini, and looked up at the class. His eyes were an endless black, reminding me of dark cold tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. His voice was merely a whisper; yet, we all were paying him the same attention as we did to Professor McGonagall, because I realized that Professor Snape had scared his students in a ten seconds record.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death— if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

I frowned, mouthing 'dunderheads' under my breath. With that attitude… I wasn't so sure I was going to succeed this day.

Hermione, looking mildly offended, sat up straight on her seat, clearly wanting to prove him wrong.

"Potter!" snapped Snape suddenly, startling all of us. I even jumped on my seat. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Isn't that a sleeping potion?

Hermione's hand was left hanging on the air as Snape waited for Potter's answer.

"I don't know, sir," said Potter.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

In… in the stomach of a goat!

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

None, they are the same plant.

"I don't know," said Potter quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

Then something clicked on my mind. Weren't all of those questions at the end of the book? They weren't fully explained, not until the next year though.

"Sit down," snapped Professor Snape.

"That's rude!" I mumbled.

_Very wrong move._

"Would you like to add something to the class, Barton?" drawled Snape, his black eyes fixing furiously on me. I still could heard the three Slytherins laughing. Taking a deep breath, I continued.

"I said 'that was rude', sir," I ignored Hermione, who was tugging my sleeve. "All the answers to your questions are at the very back of the book, and they are not fully explained. How do you expect someone to remember it so easily?"

The three Slytherin goons had stopped laughing. Maybe it was because Snape had adopted a very tense position, or maybe it was for the dangerous glint on his eyes. Either way, I didn't like it.

"It seems… you do," he said softly. "Why don't you tell us what Potter didn't 'remember'?"

Sitting straight, and looking directly at his eyes, I decided he wasn't going to embarrass me. Not like Carol or Darcy did.

"Asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it works as an antidote for almost all potions. And monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, and can go by the name of aconite, too."

Snape turned his black eyes on me and narrowed them, "Why are you all staring! You should be writing this information down!" He snapped.

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point shall be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter. And you all should be grateful Barton saved you from losing more, even though her own cheek was uncalled for."

I pursued my lips angrily.

Things didn't improve for us Gryffindors as the lesson went on. Snape put us all into pairs and ordered us to make a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around, with his dark cloak billowing behind him as he watched us weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, but most of all the time, he spent his time criticizing all the Gryffindors, giving advice to the Slytherins, and complimenting Malfoy. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes, including mine. I had to remove them quickly, not wanting to happen to me.

Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. "You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

That was so unfair I was going to open my mouth, but Hermione glared at me, her eyes saying, "I dare you."

Besides the fact I discovered I didn't like Snape much, I was happy to say my first potion making went fairly well. As for the class, I think we all agreed the Professor Dungeon Bat was an insufferable prat.


	12. Brooms, Trophies and Dogs

I've always hated bullies.

Maybe it was because Carol Davis and Mrs. Darcy had hurt me in many ways that I did; maybe it was because I felt bullies thought they were the ones with power; or perhaps it was both. Either way, I noticed the ones they hurt is because then envy them in some way, and want to call their attention. It was not a perfect way to do so but…

Still, I know when to recognize one.

And Draco Malfoy was positively on that list.

I was roaming around mindlessly on corridors, watching as older students struggled with their homework, passed by a couple snogging like there was no tomorrow, and another few fourth years talking about Harry Potter's presence on the castle. Rolling my eyes, I looked over at the courtyard. The sun was setting by now. Remembering Hermione and I had scheduled a homework team up, I made my way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Except when I was passing a lone corridor, which was a quick route, I heard footsteps following me. I tried to walk away more quickly. The footsteps (they were more than one person) did the same. I started walking incredibly fast, until I suddenly found myself jogging. The footsteps did the same.

As I rounded the corner, I stopped myself and hid on the wall. The footsteps were drawing near, and I looked sideways at them. I was right: it was three persons who had followed me. Draco Malfoy, along Crabbe and Goyle, passed the corridor I was hidden in. this was one of the particular ways that lead you directly to the Gryffindor common room, but if you didn't know about it, it remained secret, using a charm to make it look like a wall.

But I was curious. Why were they following me? As long as I remember, I have tried to not cross their radar at all, still bothered about how they try to look like if they – mainly Malfoy – owned the place.

Walking out of my secret hideaway, I walked towards behind them. They were facing a wall, making it look like if this hallway was just a dead-end: I could hear Malfoy cursing under his breath, probably because they had lost me out of sight.

"Why were you following me?" I asked loudly, making him jump. Crabbe and Goyle had slower reactions, and when they did, I saw them leering at me. It was creepy, but I returned my gaze toward Malfoy defiantly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and began walking towards me, his goons backing him up on each side.

"Last time we saw each other, we didn't introduce ourselves," he said. I raised an eyebrow.

"You were too busy making fun of me, if I recall correctly," I told him dryly, and I was satisfied to see his cheeks go pink. "What did you call me? Oh yes! Barmy and deaf."

I could see Malfoy tightening his jaw, making his chin look more pointed than it was.

"I apologize," he didn't sound sincere. "This is Crabbe, and Goyle," he nodded at each tug. Goyle was the taller of them while Crabbe seemed to look like a gorilla, "and I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

I wrinkled my nose, noticing he – like me – liked to introduce himself by his last name.

"I know," he raised an eyebrow in surprise, clearly pleased. "But you still haven't answered my question. What – do – you – want? You don't even know me!"

He visibly flinched, but I cared less.

"I know who you are," he grunted, not liking the way this conversation was going. "You're Anya Barton, the last of the Barton lineage." I raised an eyebrow. "From a wealthy Pureblood family."

"And how do you know that?" _because I didn't knew that_.

"Doesn't matter. I noticed you have spent your time with that –" he gagged, "– Granger. Why do you even choose to be surrounded by Mudbloods, when you can be friends with the better Wizarding families? Be with me, and I could help you sort out that."

Malfoy held out his hand to shake. I looked at him, _really_ him. This boy was expectant; he was hoping for me to hold out his hand. Why, I didn't know. Maybe he wanted a real friend and not his apes.

But the moment he had insulted me on the train was his decision on the case.

"You should have done this before," I said, "- on the train. Maybe I would have really wanted to be your friend. But I don't do well with bullies. Sorry."

And I walked away; leaving an angry but also disappointed Malfoy.

He had made his choice.

* * *

It was a complete buzz when I arrived to the Gryffindor common room. All of the first years were huddled together in front of the bulletin board, muttering excitedly, others groaning. Frowning, I waited a few minutes until it was almost dispersed and made my way to read closely.

**GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN FIRST YEARS WILL START THEIR FLYING LESSONS ON THURSDAY, AT NINE O' CLOCK IN THE MORNING.**

"Typical," I snapped my head towards my side. Potter was scowling up at the board. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron Weasley on my other side, trying to sooth his friend. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters, though I doubt he even knows what a helicopter is.

He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Weasley would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on his brother's old broom. Everyone from Wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. The other day, all the common room could hear Weasley and Dean Thomas arguing about soccer, a Muggle game where you kick the ball without using brooms.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. I agreed that the woman was right, seeing as Neville often found a way to hurt himself, and that was being _on_ the ground.

Hermione had instantly gone to the library, searching for ways to learn how to fly. However, she forgot this isn't learned by books, but for trying physically. This didn't stop her at all.

As for me, I still didn't know whether be scared or be excited; I decided I was going to wait and see what happens.

By Thursday morning, everyone had to hear Hermione saying flying tips loudly as we all eat breakfast. Neville was the only one listening her, and as much as I was interested on the tips, I was too sleepy to really hear her.

The sound of a screeching owl woke me up, interrupting Hermione's rant and making the boys sigh in relief.

Otto soared down towards us, carrying two envelopes with him. One was addressed to Hermione, from her parents, and the other was for me. I wasn't surprised it was from Natasha, but it disappointed me when I ripped the envelope and just found a lone piece of parchment.

_A broom is like an animal; show him you're scared, he will scare you too. Show him gentleness, and he will help you softly._

"That's it?" I asked Otto annoyed. "A piece of advice?"

Rolling my eyes as the lack of response, I tossed the paper to Hermione for her to read. She seemed to need it more than I. But then I remembered… I haven't written to Natasha, and certainly not about our flying lessons. How did she know then?

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed us a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things, this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red, oh..." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet.

"You've forgotten something..." Hermione remarked.

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Both Potter and Weasley jumped on their feet, but before a brawl could issue, McGonagall was already standing there, looking between the three of them with a glare.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," said Neville timidly, cowering under the side-glare Malfoy shot him. With a scowl, he quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

* * *

At three-thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. I heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Our teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

I glanced down at the broom with wary eyes. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up'."

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Potter's and Malfoy's brooms jumped onto their waiting hands, being part of the few who managed. Weasley's did come up, but it hit him straight to the nose. Wincing, I unconsciously rubbed my nose, grateful that it didn't happen to me. I didn't even say anything, so I didn't feel as annoyed as Hermione was. She kept muttering and saying UP loudly, while Neville mumbled the word quietly, trembling from head to foot.

I remembered what Natasha wrote, and I still though it was ridiculous. Glancing down at the broom, I couldn't help but want to try it… after all, it doesn't hurt to try.

"Up," I said firmly, causing the broom to gently flew up to my outstretched hand. Grinning wildly, I looked over to Hermione – only to found her glaring at my broom.

Was she jealous or what? It wasn't my fault her broom didn't react to her.

After a couple of minutes, Madam Hooch then showed us how to mount out brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting our grips. I couldn't help but grin slightly when she told Malfoy he had done it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. "Come back, boy!" she shouted.

"Down! Down! Neville!" Everyone yelled as Neville flew off and began to crash into everything until he started flying at the first year group, causing everyone to dive out-of-the-way as he flew by. As Neville came into view again, his cloak got caught on a statue and his broom flew out from under him towards the forest, disappearing from view.

I closed my eyes when I heard his scared shout, praying that he didn't get himself killed. Everything became eerily silent, and peering through one eye, I saw Neville on the ground. He wasn't moving.

"NEVILLE!" my feet began to move by themselves, slowly turning into a jog. I could hear everyone following me, but I was quicker than Madam Hooch.

Kneeling beside him, I turned him around, his head falling limply on my knees. Panicked, I began to wave my hands at his head and I snapped my fingers once. The tiny sound seemed to have gotten to him because next I noticed, he was groaning loudly, trying to cradle his hand. Not wanting him to hurt himself, I grabbed both hands and settled them on my lap.

"Shh, Neville… everything is okay, it's already over… you're safe," I told him, murmuring it over and over, trying to calm him down. I could basically feel his pulse on my hand.

Madam Hooch kneeled on my right and checked Neville, whose left hand was clutching tightly mine.

"Broken wrist," muttered Hooch. "Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get."

With my help, we both helped Neville to stand up, careful of not touching his injured hand. I was going to let go of his hand and return to Hermione's side, when Neville suddenly clutched my hand more tightly than before. His eyes were wide.

"No!" he gasped. "No, no. Don't let go, don't let go…"

"He has gone in shock," said Madam Hooch.

"Don't let go… I am going to fall…"

"I think it would be better if you joined us, Miss Barton," Madam Hooch said as she noticed how he was holding onto me. I nodded, feeling too panicked to do something more.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

With tears running down his round cheeks, I dragged Neville silently away from the field, Madam Hooch helping me because he had decided to lean all of his weight on me.

Grunting and wincing, I walked through the hallways, listening to him mutter and mutter the same.

_Don't let go. I am going to fall._

"Don't worry Neville," I whispered on his ear, not wanting Madam Hooch to hear this. "I won't let you fall. _Ever_."

It seems my words took some effect, because when I looked down, his harsh breathing subsided, his muttering had decreased and, though his face was still pale, I could see the most invisible of smiles in the corner of his mouth. His hold didn't lessen though, but it didn't bother me much.

* * *

"You don't have to stay."

We both were on the Hospital Wing. The moment we had passed through the double doors, the matron, Madam Pomfrey, didn't even look surprised of seeing us – mainly Neville – here. She just asked Madam Hooch what had happened and as Pomfrey ushered Neville to a bed, raising an eyebrow when she noticed me following closely, she explained everything, including the possibility of him going into a state of shock and his reluctance of letting go of my hand (which he had been still holding).

With a sigh, Pomfrey had went to her office and returned with a bottle containing a pinkish substance.

"For the nerves," she explained to Neville, who was eyeing the thing warily. Mind you, I had done the same.

Then she had given him another potion ("For the pain,") and pulled out her wand, muttering "_Episkey_," and Neville's hand had glowed, and in seconds, he had nothing broken.

But he had been ordered to stay until feast, in case of him relapsing again. I had stayed here by two hours, not wanting him to be alone, but Neville had begun to insist I should go.

"What if I want to?" I shot back at him. Neville blushed, but he still remained on his ground.

"You missed the flying lessons," Madam Hooch, after she had been reassured by the matron everything was fine, had returned to the field, giving me a pass to skip her class.

"And? I don't think I would be very fond of riding a broom by now."

"You could still eat."

As if on cue, my stomach growled. I scowled, noticing Neville grin at being right for once.

"See?"

* * *

With my puffed cheeks, I made my way towards the Great Hall. Who could have said that boy had a puppy face as a weapon?

The moment I entered and sat at the table, all the Gryffindor First years quickly encircled my seat, asking quite snottily how was Neville, if he broke something, even a dramatic girl asked if he was going to die, and so on, and on.

When they had finally got bored with my curt answers, they went to find their friends, letting me sigh in relief – until Hermione sat across me. She was glaring down at her plate, the usual scowl adorning her face. I cocked up an eyebrow.

"Not even a 'hello'?"

CLUNK!

She had thrown a fork on her plate.

"_Honestly_! Those two are – argh!"

I blinked. What was she talking about? Following her dark gaze, I found both Potter and Weasley looking quite immersed in their conversation; Ron was doing hand gestures very wildly, and Harry paid attention intently, looking like if he was trying to grasp everything.

"What happened now?" I asked exasperated. Hermione had been purposefully keeping tablets on those two lately, nagging them to do this and that, so I couldn't blame them if they tried to do something to get away from her.

"_What_ didn't happen?!" said Hermione.

"Okay, I think we aren't on the same conversation now," I said annoyed. "Why are you annoyed at Potter and Weasley now?"

Hermione frowned, looking quite cross at me.

"You haven't heard?" she grumbled. I raised both eyebrows.

"Well, it was pretty lonely up on the Hospital Wing, so… no. I don't have idea what are you talking about."

It was as if they had been all the time, because next I know, both Seamus and Dean appeared on my sides and began telling me what happened after Neville's accident. Word by word, both described how Malfoy had gotten Neville's Remembrall and had made fun of it. Potter had stepped up and Malfoy had dared him, flying with his broom, to come and get it. Potter the idiot, had done so, and followed him with his own broom. Surprisingly, he could fly very well, and after a spectacular catch (Malfoy had thrown the Remembrall), Potter had been called by McGonagall. I was surprised he wasn't expelled, but maybe he had explained to McGonagall why he broke the rules. As for Malfoy, well, he's fuming at the end of his table, his fork firmly fixed on the table by his own hand. Though, I could barely see a faint smirk on his face. He was just as angry as Hermione, but I could tell it was for different reasons.

Once Seamus and Dean departed to do their Transfiguration essay, I turned to Hermione questioningly.

"So, what got your knickers on a twist?"

* * *

"_Hermione_! Go back to sleep!"

"No! I'm not going to let them lost us points!" she hissed back.

It was almost midnight. Well, it was exactly eleven at night. The other girls were already asleep but a certain Hermione Granger wasn't.

"Just let them _deal_ with it," I whispered exasperated. "You can win all the points back!"

The real reason Hermione had been mad and grumpy all day was Potter and Weasley. Honestly, those two were starting to get annoying by now, or maybe it annoyed me that Hermione paid them more attention than anything. _Even_ me. And that's where all the friendship crap went.

"But still! How thick can they be to not notice Malfoy has set Harry up?" she asked incredulous.

"Enough to try and fly a broom?" I said sarcastically.

Glaring, she opened the dorm's door as quietly as she could, but by the way she was fuming, I bet she would have slammed it shut with enough force to make the walls tremble. Giving a frustrated sigh to the top of my bed's canopy, I grabbed my tennis shoes and put them on. Though Hermione had grabbed her pink bathrobe, it wasn't necessary for me to do so. I was wearing an old long-sleeved blue shirt and a pair of red shorts that were far too large for me, but they were comfortable for me to wear them at night.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms defiantly when she saw me walk down the stairs, but I only shot her a dirty look and muttered, "If you can't beat them, join them."

She smiled in gratitude while I made myself comfortable in one of the comfy armchairs near the fireplace. Hermione had chosen to sit on one of the armchairs, a reading lamp beside her.

Not ten minutes later, I heard the quiet shuffle of shoes on the right side of the common room. Even though I know they were trying to be as discreet as possible, I couldn't help but let out a silent snicker for their inexperience. I wouldn't even let anyone discover I had disappeared at all.

When the sound now was near the portrait hole, Hermione turned on the lamp, catching the guilty boys like a pair of deer on the spotlight.

"I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry," she said with a frown.

"_You!_" said Ron Weasley furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy — he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this." I yawned, making jump the boys.

"_You too?!"_ Weasley half yelled/whispered, both he and Harry Potter looking quite incredulous – and ridiculous.

"I'm only waiting for her to go and sleep, Weasley," I sighed, closing my eyes a little.

"Come on," muttered Potter irritated.

He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole, Weasley following. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't give up on them. Looking quite scary, she followed behind Weasley, hissing at them angrily. With a scowl and wondering how in the heavens I was mixed into this, I jogged after them.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Go away," snapped Weasley. I glared at him.

"Let them go, Hermione. I already told you to let them deal with the consequences," I put a hand on her shoulder, not looking away from Weasley. Although Potter didn't show it openly like Weasley did, I knew they didn't like Hermione and though of her as annoying. Even if she was, I knew Hermione didn't mean to be so. Like me, I knew she acted the way she did to gain some way of acknowledge from people – but Weasley wasn't one of them.

Looking at me – I knew she did – Hermione let out a long, angry sigh and glared mutinously at Potter, who didn't seem troubled by it. Oh, if he knew she wasn't even half-serious at all.

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so —"

She had stopped talking. Frowning, I turned to ask if she was alright, until I saw the problem. _Our_ problem.

The portrait leading inside the Gryffindor Tower was empty. The Fat Lady had gone away to one of her usual nighttime strolls._ And Hermione and I were stuck outside._

I groaned. My dear sleep. My dear sweet warm bed was _inside_. I was locked _outside_ with two idiots and an annoyed Hermione! I looked up at the ceiling in disbelief.

"You gotta be kidding me," I mumbled. "_Please_, tell me you are."

"Now what are we going to do?" Hermione said shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Weasley. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."

He and Potter set off. Sharing a look, we both followed them.

"We're coming with you," I said.

"You are not," snapped Weasley, not turning to look at us.

"The hell we are," I retorted, eyeing his back. The boy was a lot taller than the rest of us, shadowing our silhouettes on the walls.

"D'you think we both are going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch us?" said Hermione. "If he finds all four of us I'll tell him the truth, that Annie and I were trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

Rounding on us, Weasley raised his hand pointing at her chest angrily. I crossed my arms.

"_You've got some nerve —" _

"Shut up, both of you!" said Potter sharply. "I heard something."

"So _you do_ talk after all," I muttered, earning a glare from him.

The sound rang louder.

"Mrs. Norris?" said Weasley.

"I don't think so," I whispered, walking a bit ahead of Potter. The more I approached, the easier was to make out. It sounded like snuffling, but there were a few quiet snores too.

"What is that?" asked Weasley, creeping beside me. I shook my head.

"Dunno."

Potter let out a surprised breath and called out nervously.

"Neville?"

"_Neville_?!"

Indeed he was. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake at our incredulous voices.

"Thank goodness you found me!" he breathed.

"What are you doing out here?" Hermione asked. "Weren't you supposed to be in the Hospital Wing?"

"I was released by Madam Pomfrey," Neville said. "I've been out here for _hours_, actually, but I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere," said Weasley.

"How's the wrist?" I asked, moving my own as if to prove a point. "Or for that matter, how are _you_?"

"Fine," said Neville, "Really – look," he added when the rest looked at him with questioning stares, showing us his arm. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good — well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later —"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione, Neville and I.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you."

"Not if I hex you first," I said, crossing my arms. Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Weasley exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Potter hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned us all forward.

We flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every corner, Potter would stop us and look around – only to find nothing. We were lucky tonight, but I knew it was too soon to state that. We sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room, leaving me last to close the door.

Neither Malfoy nor his cronies had arrived. Potter took out his wand in case of emergency, and all of us looked at both doors on the ends of the room, but I soon got bored and decided to look around.

The large showcases aligned up to the walls glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Trophies of different sizes and colors surrounded us all, varying from cups, ribbons, banners, badges, shields, plates, and statues. They were all organized by years.

When I got to a showcase, I stopped. It was the same size and yet…

Above the silver Quidditch Cup, there was a large red banner. _Class of 1970's. _The vitrine was clearly for Gryffindor. A few photos were spread around, but the biggest was positioned down the Quidditch Cup. It seemed Gryffindor had got lucky for five years on a row, from 1974 to 1978. The photo had seven people with red robes and pieces which looked like baseball equipment to me. The cup was being carried by a teen boy with blond hair and a stockier black-haired one; on the blonde's side was a tall blond girl with baby blue eyes, who was smiling and giving a V of victory at the camera. I almost gasped when she winked at me, but then I remembered that magical photos could move. On the other side of the stockier boy was a young man with dark skin. But behind all of them were three different people.

They looked separated from their team, yet, I knew those had to be best friends. The small group was formed by two boys and a girl, which was between them and had them engulfed on one-sided arm hugs. She was smiling brightly at the camera, her grey eyes full of mischief and laugh. Her long curly hair was all disheveled from the braid she had tied it, but she didn't seem to care. The man on her right side looked _exactly_ like her, except he was laughing, which seemed more of a bark. His shoulder long hair was curly, and he had, as the girl, an aristocratic appearance I had only seen on History books. Being twins, they both were very handsome.

The last boy of the team wore a silver badge with a C on it. And boy, wasn't it a shock to see who it was?

"Psst! Hey Potter,"

"Shut it, Barton," hissed Weasley. I rolled my eyes.

"You should come by and see this. It looks like Quidditch runs through your blood."

Ignoring Weasley's protests, Potter walked over to my side, looking slightly annoyed but also curious. I pointed to the photo.

On the other side of the grey eyed twins was a boy with black untidy hair and hazel eyes. He had a lean figure and was tall at his young age. Smirking at the camera, the boy looked proudly at his team. Down the photo was a wooden plate with golden badges; at the very top were three names: _Sirius Black, Seeker_; _Cassiopeia Black, Chaser_; and _James Potter, Captain 1974-78, Chaser_.

James Potter was the exact copy of Harry, except for the eyes and the glasses; Harry's were round and he had gentle fierce emerald-green eyes, whilst his father wore square glasses and had hazel eyes, full of mirth and mischief. They looked the same, but it was obvious the two were complete opposites.

Neville, Weasley and Hermione came too, although she kept an eye on the doors.

"Wow!" Weasley exclaimed, looking between the photo and Harry, and then his eyes lingered on the badge. "Harry, you never told me your father played Quidditch? And that he had been Captain!"

"I – I didn't know," breathed Potter, not looking away from his father.

"They won the Cup _five_ years on a row?" Neville added marveled.

Sharing a look, Hermione and I dragged Weasley away. He gave us a disgruntled look, but with one look at his friend, he followed willingly. Neville came a second later.

Minutes crept by, and Malfoy still didn't appear. Potter didn't seem to care anymore but Weasley was looking nervously at the doors.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Weasley whispered. Hermione glared.

"I already have told you, he isn't going to come! It's a trap!" she hissed.

"What most interests me is, how is that you both couldn't notice it was obvious he would do this?" I wondered. "After all, there's a reason why Malfoy was put on Slytherin."

A sudden noise on the next room made us all jump. Potter walked over at us, with his wand raised at the door. To my horror, we all could hear someone talking – and it wasn't Malfoy at all.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to his cat. We all but run out of the room, Potter making gestures to follow him quietly. Neville was the last one to come out when we hear Filch talking again.

"They're in here somewhere, probably hiding."

"This way!" mouthed Potter nervously. Scared, we began to move down a long gallery full of suits of armor. As Filch grew nearer, Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run, and when he was going to trip, he grabbed Weasley around the waist and both toppled right into a suit of armor. I winced when all the metal pieces fell on top of them.

"RUN!" Potter yelled, and without needing to be told twice, I did so.

The five of s sprinted down the corridor, not taking risk of looking back to confirm whether Filch was following us or not. With Potter on the lead, we ran through corridor after corridor, portraits and windows flying past us. We ripped through a tapestry and found ourselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which I knew was miles from the Trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Potter panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. On my left side Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. I was breathing heavily, a hand on my neck to feel my beating pulse, the other on my waist, leaning my arse on the wall.

"I —told — you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I — told — you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Weasley, "quickly as possible."

"Filch knew where to look," I panted. "Malfoy must have tipped him off. He already had – had planned this."

Potter didn't say anything, but his face told me he agreed with me.

"Let's go," he said.

It wasn't going to be that simple. We hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of us.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of us and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves — please — you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away. Please don't," I pleaded.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Weasley, taking a swipe at Peeves.

I sighed. _"Idiot."_

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves, we ran for our lives, right to the end of the corridor where we slammed into a door — and it was locked.

"This is it!" Weasley moaned, as we pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!"

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered,

"_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open — we piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed our ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please.'"

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

"All right —_please_."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" There was a sudden whoosh, and I could hear Peeves cackling as he went, with Filch cursing right behind him.

I sighed, turning around. A strong smell of rotten hit me on the face, making me gag and cough.

"He thinks this door is locked," Potter was whispering. "I think we'll be okay — get off, Neville! _What_?"

But I already had spotted it. It was impossible to ignore too. I was looking straight into the eyes of the biggest dog I've seen, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of yellow, mad eyes; their noses were twitching and quivering in our direction, their mouths drooling, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

I leaned against the door, trying to not shout in fear and surprise. Right now, it didn't matter if we were caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris, or were pranked by Peeves; I wanted to get out of here, away from the growling dog – _dogs_?

I suddenly fell backwards on the floor, and Potter slammed shut the door. We ran away from there, the squeaky sound of our shoes echoing on the halls. Everything flew by us, and we did not meet Filch again, but we didn't care by now. Coming to a halt, we watched as the Fat Lady eyed our sweaty appearances.

"Where on earth have you all been?"

"Never mind that — pig snout, pig snout," panted Potter, and the portrait swung forward. We scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs. I had to take deep breaths, wanting my body to stop shaking.

It was a while before any of us could say something. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again. Finally, Weasley broke the silence.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school? If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

My eye twitched.

"We – we were almost eaten by a three-headed dog – and all you have to say is 'the dog needs exercise'? Are you insane?!" I yelled panting, clutching my left side with a wince. Neville grabbed my shoulder, and panting, told me to not yell.

"You don't use your eyes, do you?" Hermione snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Potter suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, _not _the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

She stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Hermione marched away towards the door leading up to the girl's dormitories and disappeared behind it.

"No, we don't mind," Weasley mocked. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you."

"She needs to sort out her priorities," I shook my head. "Who in the heavens thinks being expelled is worse than death?"

With a last exasperated sigh, I followed. If Hermione was in good mood tomorrow morning, I wonder if she would let me deck Malfoy on the face.


	13. Once Upon a Halloween

By next morning at breakfast, I couldn't help but laugh at the sight that greeted Hermione and I on the Great Hall.

"Huh, you were right."

"Of course I was," Hermione huffed, trying to hide the smile that was lurking on her lips. "I am still annoyed about last night… but it is really fascinating to watch him turn that shade of purple, don't you think?"

As we both sat on the Gryffindor (away from Potter and Weasley), my eyes once again turned to the Slytherin table, especially towards a certain blond boy.

Draco Malfoy was watching how Potter and Weasley talked animatedly, albeit looking a bit tired. He was shocked to not see them being kicked out of the castle and had started to gap, until he closed his mouth and I saw his jaw tighten, almost gritting his teeth like a grumpy old man. Malfoy did not seem to be breathing; that would explain why his face had turned from pink and red, to a shady mix of blue and purple.

I didn't tell Hermione this (I suppose she already noticed though), but after I thought more calmly about last night's adventure, I found all of it had been quite thrilling. _Sigh_. Unfortunately, I was the only one who could say the same (apart from Weasley and Potter).

Hermione was still peeved with the boys for not listening to her, and had decided to ignore them and glare furiously when she could. And as for Neville, he had even started being more cautious about where he walked, not wanting to end on the third corridor by accident at all. He hadn't spoken about the dog since Hermione and I last talked about it.

Besides that, nothing interesting happened the following week; it was rather boring, actually. I had sent a letter to Natasha, telling her about my adventure, and she had answered for me to be careful, that a lot of magical creatures were very dangerous if you didn't knew their weakness or a way to pacify them.

As for classes, I had done well. I discovered both Potions and Herbology were a bit of a weak point to me while Charms and Transfiguration were at the very top of my success. In fact, Professor Flitwick had commented that the next week we'll start practicing the Levitating charm, and as it was the first spell I had seen Natasha do, I could not wait and see how I do it.

What was more interesting though, was the upcoming Halloween feast. All the first years couldn't stop talking about it, and a lot of older students were asked what to expect. Fred and George Weasley had said Mr. Dumbledore once hired Mexican dancing skeletons who sang a mariachi in the Great Hall; they said in their second year he invited all the ghosts to decorate the hall, and that it had been the best Horror Hall they had ever gone too (or as they had said, and I quote, "Worthy of our oldest pranks!" "We had been a bunch of misfits back then, hadn't we Forge?"). Although Hermione had heard that it was going to be decorated by floating pumpkins this year.

Still, I couldn't wait to see how it looked. St. Louise's never celebrated Halloween because Mrs. Darcy thought it was like celebrating the devil… or something like that.

Monday morning came and the usual Owl post arrived. Both Hermione and I kept using Otto for deliveries, but I didn't receive anything this morning.

The sudden screech of birds drew my attention and I looked up, catching sight of a long thin package being carried by six owls, all of them bigger enough to carry it without falling for its weight. It was a bit surprising they had dropped it in front of Potter, who never received anything from his white snowy owl.

Shrugging, I went to take a spoon of my porridge when I noticed Hermione was looking once more in their direction, her eyes narrowed in deep concentration on the parcel on the table.

"What now?" I asked, sounding resigned. Well, I was becoming resigned to the fact that Hermione would still be prying both Potter's and Weasley's lives, even though she's mad at them.

"That's a broomstick," she snapped. I raised my head surprised and looked over at the package again. Another different owl had dropped a letter to Potter, who was telling Weasley its contents.

"Really? How do you know?"

"The way in which the parcel is covered. It's measured how it doesn't show what it really is," she told me in her usual matter-of-fact tone. "And there's the fact that is quite obvious. Haven't you heard? Rumor has it that Harry was chosen as a seeker for the Gryffindor team."

"Oh. Didn't know that."

With her grumbling 'how's that?', we both resumed eating, and a few minutes later left the Great Hall. We climbed the staircase, and looking up, I noticed we were conveniently walking a bit near Potter and Weasley, managing to catch bits of conversation.

"…well, it's true," Potter was chortling as he and Weasley reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team…"

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" said Hermione angrily, striding past them and stopping in front of Potter.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?"

"Yes, don't stop now," said Weasley, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione gave them a last glare and marched away, her nose on the air.

I huffed, crossing my arms.

"No, don't mind me. It's not like I'm here at all, do I?" I grumbled, walking past them too, knowing very well that they were hearing every word I said. "One of these days, I am going to steal one of Filch's brooms and bang all of your heads with it. And before I forget, congratulations on the broom Potter. I am sure you'll be a fine player," I called loudly, not even looking back at the surprised looks my last commentary got.

I think Hogwarts has somehow made me bipolar, but who I am to judge?

* * *

Halloween morning came, with me waking up at the delicious smell of baking pumpkin. I lost breakfast because all the time I was changing into my uniform was spent instead with sniffing through the door. Hermione didn't seem to have any problem with it, and had left before me, giving up on bringing me out of my reverie.

My mood was so bright it could not be dampened, and only increased when Professor Flitwick announced that today we were going to practice the Levitating charm, proceeding to do a demonstration by making Neville's toad, Trevor, float all around the classroom.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked the short Professor, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

I was disappointed I had been paired with Harry Potter, but then again, I certainly didn't want to be on Hermione's place, seeing as she had been paired with Ron Weasley. Those two looked ready to kill each other, and I think they would have done so if they weren't sitting closer to Professor Flitwick' desk.

Sitting on the table next to them, Potter and I tried to find a way to make the feather Flitwick gave us float. Potter swished and flicked, but nothing he did seemed to work. Me, however, practiced saying the spell slowly, trying to find a nice ring to it.

"Win – _gar_ – dium Le – vi – _o_ – sa," I mouthed. "Win – _gar_ –dium Levi –_o_ – sa."

"What are you doing?" said Potter, looking genuinely interested.

"I'm trying to figure out how to say the spell."

"Its Wingardium Leviosa," he said, not seeming to understand my actions.

"I know, but you heard Professor Flitwick. We have to announce it properly, so I'm trying to find the nice ring to it."

Potter nodded and to my surprise, he began to do the same as me. Hiding a smile, I tilted my head sideways and continued saying the charm over and over.

Behind us, Seamus Finnigan cursed. Potter and I turned around when Neville (Finnigan's partner) shrieked, making me shout in surprise and jump out of their table's reach. Apparently, Seamus had become impatient and somehow set his feather on fire. The reason I had jumped was because Seamus was sitting right behind me, and as my hair had grew a bit larger, I didn't want to risk getting fire on my head. Seeing as both Seamus and Neville had started panicking, Potter pulled off his hat and started to put it out.

"My hero," I commented dryly, getting a chuckle out of him.

As we started practicing the proper wand movement, we could hear Weasley struggling to get the spell right, his words sounding more and more frustrated as he spoke.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," I heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

Potter shot me a surprised stared, making me smile smugly that I _did_ get right how to say it.

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Weasley snarled.

I stopped my actions, interested to see how this little spat between them ended.

Hermione glared at Weasley, and then turned abruptly to her front, rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, flicking her wand and said in a loud and clear voice: "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Their feather suddenly rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Weasley ended glaring heatedly at Hermione, sulking through the rest of the class. Rolling my eyes with a sigh, I continued to practice.

* * *

"Should I give you my congratulations or my deepest condolences?" I joked, helping Hermione shove her books carefully into her satchel. "Forgetting about Weasley though, I think it was wonderful you managed to do it in your first try."

Hermione beamed and said, "You too. I wouldn't have had the patience to repeat the spell _over_ again."

"Maybe," I drawled. "But I still think your way was better. Weasley deserved what he got."

She scrunched up her nose in a grimace. "Don't remind me. Ugh! How is possible for a boy to be such a – a moron?!"

I shrugged. "Search me."

With a huff, she knelt under her desk and brought up the largest, widest, the heaviest looking book I had ever seen. Sensing my inquiring look, she muttered, "Light reading."

If that was _light_ for her, I certainly didn't want to find out what _heavy_ meant to Hermione.

"Tell me, how did it go with Harry?" I shrugged again.

"Potter was okay, I guess. Though, I was surprised he started practicing the spell verbally when I told him it was important to pronounce it correctly."

Hermione huffed. "_Lucky you_. Why I couldn't I have the more patient partner? I am envious of you now," I laughed, not knowing that she had spoken with the truth.

As we headed out to the corridor, we both could hear Weasley complaining loudly.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

My smile faded, and when I turned to look at Hermione, I was shocked to see her eyes glistening with tears.

"Mione –"

Without waiting for me, she hurried off down the corridor, banging shoulders with Potter and managing to get through the crowd.

"I think she heard you."

"So?" said Weasley, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

My cheeks puffed out in anger, my face heated in anger, and before I could stop it, I snapped.

"HOW CAN YOU EVEN SAY THAT?!"

Both Weasley and Potter jumped, turning around to stare at me in shock. Half the students stopped walking and had turned to stare at me in silence, but I hardly paid them attention.

"Well – it's true," stammered Weasley. "And you can hardly count as one."

I crossed my arms. "What are you trying to say Weasley?" Potter started to tug his friend's robes, wanting to drag him away, but Weasley, feigning bravery, stood on his place and continued.

"Everyone knows you hardly socialize with your House, and that you only stick with Hermione because she's the only one not scared of the Gryffindor Ice Princess."

I almost winced, remembering Carol saying the same once.

"In fact, we all believe you don't have feelings – and only makes sarcastic remarks because you think you're above us."

I gritted my teeth.

"Anything else to say?" Weasley didn't move. "Good. Because now it's my turn," I prodded my finger to his chest threateningly, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Potter pull out his wand, but not doing any movement of attacking.

"Call me Ice Princess, call me anti-social, weird, and if you want it, call me freak even. But Hermione, you leave her alone. Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean she's a nightmare! Haven't you ever tried to understand her? She was just excited to be here, and scared – scared of being ridiculed because she's Muggleborn and knowing nothing of the Wizarding World. And if she has treated you this way is because you're the only one bullying her for trying to blend in this new world. She's bossy, I give you that; she's a know-it-all too," I agreed. "But because all of that, I'm proud to say I'm Hermione's Granger's friend!" I exclaimed, turning abruptly to Potter. "Can you say the same of Weasley, Potter?"

Throwing them a last dark glare, I turned on my heel and made my way through the corridor. People moved from my way, muttering behind me as I turned the corner. Honestly, I could care less. My main priority was Hermione now.

* * *

After I left my backpack on the Girl's dormitories, I first went to search out to the library; Hermione's sanctuary. Knowing her, I knew she didn't want to face Ron Weasley looking like a wreck.

But Hermione wasn't on the library. I asked Madam Pince if she had seen her, but shooting me a dirty look, she curtly told me she hasn't seen anyone who was in Gryffindor around here – except the Weasley twins.

As I went my way, I looked into every broom cupboard and classroom in every floor I searched; I interrupted class through class by opening the door and asking loudly if she was there. Professor Quirrell threatened to tell Professor McGonagall of interrupting his class, but I shrugged it off and told him I was curious about how the students acted normally. Imagine my surprise when he fell for the lie.

I asked portraits, the Hogwarts' ghosts, even had a "polite" talk with Peeves without ending pranked. I didn't to talk to the Bloody Baron though; he seemed to be sulking, and that made him look scarier than before.

I finally found her on the second floor girl's bathroom, hiding on one of the stall doors. I tried opening it, but I almost got hit because it opened when Hermione suddenly appeared shouting, "_Leave me alone_!"

And she shut herself inside again. I heard a round of giggles from the wall of sinks. Parvati Patil was giggling. And although I couldn't see her face, I knew she was the one who had giggled.

"Bugger off," I hissed. Parvati, looking quite offended, turned up her nose and walked out of the bathroom, making sure of slamming hard the door on her wake.

Shaking my head, I returned to the problem at hand. I knocked once again on Hermione's stall, this time stepping back quickly at arm's length.

"Hermione?"

"I said leave me _alone_, Anya," she sniffled. I winced. That was the first time she called me Anya and not Annie.

"Can you please come out?"

"Go away!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" I snapped back. "If you don't want to come out, fine then! I'll just sit here and wait."

And so I did.

Hermione didn't talk to me, but just sniffled once in a while. Besides that, everything was quiet. No one came to stare at the strange girl sitting on the floor in front of a sniffling stall, or gossiping about said girl snapping at the boy-who-lived's best friend.

I pulled out my wand and began twirling it between my fingers, deciding to either use it as a drumstick or practicing the Levitating charm. I chose neither.

"On _St. Louise's Orphanage_," I began softly, "… I didn't have friends. Not because I didn't want to, but because they were scared of me… of what I could do. Not that I tried to change their way of thinking, mind you. An accident happened when I was five… and then everyone turned their backs on me. The matron already was resentful towards me; Carol Davis, one of the older girls, managed to convince everyone I was freak because I sent some girls flying… even the milkman told me I was strange…" I sighed. "Had it not been for Natasha Rosenberg – the woman who sends me the letters – I think I would have gone mad."

I looked over at the sinks, twirling my wand absently. I could see myself on _St. Louise's_ again, scared and alone, thinking I was a freak and no one would help me.

"I don't know how to treat people very well, maybe that's why I don't talk much and if I do, I tend to act rude most of the times… I was surprised when I understood you wanted to spend time with me. I know it's not easy to do so, but…" I let out another sigh, passing m hand through my hair. The dark brown blended easily against the wooden stall. How curious it could do that with an unmoving thing.

"What I want to say is, being different doesn't matter. It's just a side-effect of being awesome," I could hear Hermione chuckle brokenly on the other side. I smiled ruefully. "It doesn't matter what Ron Weasley says Hermione. I like you the way you are; I like you are smarter than a bunch of Ravenclaws together; I like that you're bossy because it means you can stand my strange tendencies; even though you don't show it, I know you're funny in your own way; all of that makes you _you_, and you should walk outside of that stall with your head high and show the world you're proud of it." I took a deep breath. "Because I am already proud of being your friend."

There was silence. Hermione had stopped sneezing inside her stall.

"I – I am your friend…" I trailed. "Am I?"

There was a click and the stall's door opened. I almost fell on my back, had it not been for Hermione, who had launched herself on her knees and was hugging me from behind.

"Of course you are," she said.

I smiled. "Glad to know."

Cleaning her face with the back of her sleeve, Hermione stood up and I followed.

"Now, what do you say if I go to the Great Hall, steal a bit of food and we both go to the Gryffindor Tower?"

Hermione chuckled, nodding.

"Let me wash my face first. I don't want them to…" she motioned to her red puffy eyes.

"Yeah, I know," I nodded. "Here, give me your bag."

I waited for her by leaning against the stalls, humming _Girls just want to have fun_ by Cyndi Lauper, when I suddenly gagged, a revolting smell filling my nostrils. Bringing a hand to my mouth, I resisted the urge to puke… or to enter the stall behind me _and_ puke.

Hermione's gasp made turn to her, but she was not looking at me. Following her frightened eyes, I felt myself open my mouth in disbelief, closing it before the horrid scent entered my mouth. I gulped.

_We are in serious trouble._

Blocking the only way out was a troll. Twenty feet tall, its skin was a dull gray, with his lumpy body reminding me of a boulder. His small head looked like a coconut perched carefully at the top. t. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. He was dragging a wooden club, which was scratching the floor loudly because his arms were too long. And the smell – good Lord, that smell was horrendous.

Several things happened; Hermione screamed shrilly behind me, her voice lost on the sudden roar the troll gave; thinking quickly, I had grabbed her arm (her bag was left behind), dragging her towards the exit. Crouching under his legs, I shoved Hermione to the doors, making her stumble against the wall. She tried to push the door, but blanching, Hermione yelled that it was locked.

The troll had heard her, and he raised his club above his head a bit clumsily.

"DIVE! UNDER THE STALLS!" I screamed.

Panicking, I grabbed Hermione's thickest book and tossed it at his head. It hit its target.

"Hey, ugly!" I yelled. The noise of my voice had called his attention. "Yes, you! Over here!"

I was waving my arms on the air, trying to turn him away from the stalls. But the troll had raised his club once more and sliced the stalls with it. I heard Hermione screaming.

"Hermione!" I yelled… along with two voices.

Potter and Weasley had run into the bathroom, looking both pale and terrified. However, I was the one in trouble; the troll had its full attention to me. Whimpering, I began walking backwards, until I felt my behind hit the wall.

"Confuse it!" Potter said to Weasley, grabbing a tap from the floor and threw it against the wall. The troll stopped on his steps, blinking and dumbly searching the source of the noise. His small eyes found Potter, and hesitatingly, he lifted his club at him.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Weasley from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Weasley instead, giving Potter time to run around it.

Potter kneeled beside Hermione, trying to help her stand, but it was as if she had been frozen; her eyes didn't look away from the monster.

The shouting had made the troll gone berserk, and with a furious roar, he started towards Ron, who was the nearest.

"Butthead! Ugly smelling!" I yelled, but the troll was already lifting his club, ready to strike.

The Potter did something that was both brave and stupid; he took a great running jump and quickly fastened his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll didn't seem to feel that a person was hanging behind his back, but he noticed when he snorted, because a thin stick of wood had been tucked up his nose. It was Potter's wand.

The troll howled in pain and began to trash around, Potter hanging on for dear life.

"Ugh! This just could happen to us!" I said. Grabbing my wand from the ground, I shot a jet of green sparks up to the ceiling. The troll stopped trashing, but when Potter thought it was safe to get his wand back, he raised a gigantic hand and grabbed him from the ankle, leaving him hanging upside down.

"No!" "Harry!"

The troll waved back and forth his club, never catching to hit Potter as he yanked upward each time.

"Do something!"

"What?" Weasley and I yelled.

"_Anything_!"

An idea struck my mind but before I could say the spell, the troll raised his right leg and kicked me, sending me flying to the destroyed stalls. I could feel pieces of wood nailing my back. I groaned; my wand wasn't with me anymore.

"_Annie_!" Hermione shrieked. Turning on my awkward place, I coughed.

"Ron!" I called, making the redhead look at me in fright. I raised my hand and did the Levitating charm motion. "Swish and flick!"

"Hurry up!" yelled Potter, looking dizzier up there.

Weasley pulled out his wand from his robes and pointing it at the troll's club, he bellowed, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over — and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. Swaying, the troll let go of Potter and almost crushed him had not Potter crawled backwards. Falling flat on his face with a thud, the whole room trembled.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Standing slowly, I made my way towards them Weasley, Potter and Hermione, who all were crowding around the troll's head.

"Is it – dead?" said Hermione.

"I don't think so," I said.

Potter, bending down in front of the troll's face, said, "Just knocked out." And pulled out his wand from the creature's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue. I grimaced.

"Urgh — troll boogers," he muttered. Smiling grimly, I looked over at Weasley, who still had his wand raised and his face was contorted in one of shock.

"Weasley, all right there?" visibly gulping, he nodded. "Potter?" I turned towards said boy. Cleaning his wand at the end of his robes, he nodded. "Hermione?"

"I think so," she whispered. I let out a sigh.

"Good."

I went to retrieve Hermione's bag (along with her book), and after moving pieces of wood, Potter found my wand.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of us look up. We hadn't realized what a racket we had made, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Professor Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. Was that the man supposed to teach us defense?"

Snape bent over the troll, but Professor McGonagall didn't move from her spot. She was looking at Weasley and Potter, as the pair was the nearest to the troll and her. I just wished Weasley would lower his wand; we were in enough trouble as if. Curiously, Professor Snape was glaring at Potter as if he knew he was behind all of this.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Making a sound at the back of my throat, I stepped forward.

"It was my fault, Professor –"

"_Our_ fault, you mean," said Hermione firmly. I looked at her with a glare, didn't she see what I was trying to do?

"Miss Barton, I would believe it from you," I gaped in disbelief, "but Miss Granger as well?!"

"You see, they were looking for us," continued Hermione, avoiding our teacher's sharp eyes.

"We went looking for the troll because I thought it would be fascinating to see one closely –" I continued.

"– And I've read all about them, so I thought the two of us could deal with it –"

"– Except it got a bit out of control –"

"– it got _completely_ out of control, actually. Harry and Ron arrived in time –"

"– because had it not been for them, I would have been smashed to death."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "They didn't have time to fetch anyone, Professor."

The both of us fell silent. Trying to adapt a guilty look (contrary of trying to do an innocent one), I saw Potter and Weasley trying to look as if this wasn't new to them.

"Well — in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring to all of us, "Miss Granger, Miss Barton, you foolish girls, how could you both have thought of tackling down a mountain troll by yourselves?"

Hermione hung her head while I avoided all the teachers' looks.

"I would have expected more rational behavior on your parts and am extremely disappointed, Miss Granger, Miss Barton. Twenty-five points will be taken from Gryffindor for both of your serious lack of judgment. If you're not hurt at all, you both better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Both Hermione and I left in silence. We could still hear McGonagall talking, but as soon as the voices disappeared, Hermione rounded on me.

"Are you alright? I almost thought you were dead!"

"Don't worry, Mione, I am fine. My back's a bit sore, but I don't think Hogwarts has some hidden masseurs around."

She smiled, but then it turned to a scowl.

"Why did you lie to Professor McGonagall? You could've been expelled!"

"I don't know – why did _you_ lie?" I shot back.

"I panicked," said Hermione.

Rolling my eyes, I told the password to the Fat Lady and entered. The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. But even though we both were hungry, Hermione and I didn't go for the food tables. We waited until the portrait opened again, and Potter and Weasley went through.

They were surprised to see us, and after sharing an awkward look between the four, we all muttered, "Thanks," and together hurried off to get plates. Though I was still mad at Weasley because of his comment, I smiled at our bit of progress on being polite at each other.

It was a small step for all of us, and despite the fact we all were almost killed by a troll, I couldn't help but feel thankful to it.


	14. Cursed Game

October ended, and so did the warm days. I could only describe November as the windiest month of the year. All the students already were using their coats and scarfs, and on Hagrid's case, beaverskin boots. The grounds became chilly, and beginnings of frost slowly began to appear.

It was Quidditch season, and for the first match, Gryffindor would play against Slytherin. Hidden from the Prefects, the Weasley Twins managed to make bets as to who would win; all the money and faith was put on Harry Potter's abilities, although no one knew if he was a good player at all.

After the troll accident, a silent agreement was made between the four of us, in which we all had to watch each other's backs. As the time flew by, Hermione and I passed more time with them, much to my chagrin at the beginning. However, I later found myself enjoying their company.

Hermione and Weasley – I meant Ron – still fight occasionally, but by now we all knew they actually liked to argue about _everything_; from homework to the importance of Quidditch, you make the comment and they would gladly start to argue about it. Harry and I often joked how they looked like an old married couple.

Speaking of Potter, I began to have a soft spot for him. _No, don't misunderstand._ I don't have a _crush_ on Potter, just that… I actually am not sure of the why, but I act more freely around him. It was like if I had known him all my life… is it possible to feel this way?

Because of said feeling, I appointed myself as Harry's tutor. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, has been training his team without rest. When Harry returned late from practice, I looked over at his work and comment what did he miss, what did he got wrong, compliments as well were thrown between us, and after I explained him the topic, Harry seemed to dwell well on his own.

"Well, aside Quidditch, I think you can pass all your classes with flying colors," I told him one time. "Well, except Potions."

"That's pretty obvious why," said Harry humorlessly.

"Yeah, I noticed Snape hated you from the moment you entered the dungeons," I mused, tapping my wand on my Transfiguration book, "What did you do to him in your past life?"

As for Hermione, she became more relaxed around the boys and constantly put a blind eye when she sees Harry and Ron breaking rules. She too, has helped both boys with their homework (mostly Potions and History of Magic), and because she didn't want Harry ending hurt (or losing the game), she lent him her _Quidditch Through Ages_ book to read, and see if he can do some of the tricks written in there.

Harry didn't separate himself from that book the entire week, claiming it was very interesting to read.

"Hermione must be rubbing off on you," I said, making Ron snigger and Hermione protest.

It was the day before the Quidditch match and we all were out in the courtyard, the cold air making us shiver constantly. Lucky for us, Hermione learned a spell in which she conjured a blue flame in which she carried it on a jar, all of us sitting with our backs to it, trying to get warm.

I was twirling my wand absently once more, while both Ron and Hermione talked about chess – game in which Ron seemed to be an expert and was claiming Hermione's tactical defense was useless. Sputtering, she began to argue that he wasn't right, and retorting back, Ron asked her if she had played it before. Cheeks turning pink, Hermione muttered something under her breath that made Weasley snigger and continue talking as if nothing had happened. Rolling my eyes, I turned to look at Harry. He was concentrated on the Quidditch book, reason why he didn't notice the almost argument between his friends.

With a sigh, I looked up at the Black Lake. It wasn't black at all, but the shade of blue had a dark tone to it so maybe that's the reason of the name?

My eyes travelled to the courtyard, wishing to find something interesting to watch. I didn't have time to dwell on it however. Professor Snape was crossing the yard, his beloved dark cloak floating like a halo behind him. The stiffness on his posture reminded me wildly of Darth Vader from the _Star Wars_ movie.

"Don't let Snape see the flame," Harry whispered, making a face and looking quickly down at his book.

"Then stop making faces," I muttered back, biting the inside of my cheek when Snape's black eyes lingered on us. "He's already watching us."

"And he's already coming," said Ron.

"Is it just me or does Snape seem to have a permanent scowl on his face when he sees you, Harry?" I asked, quickly looking down at my wand. Harry didn't have time to answer back because Snape was limping toward us.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?" he said. Harry showed him _Quidditch Through Ages_.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

Reluctantly, Harry handed the book away and when Snape walked away, he scowled at his back.

"He's just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

"Maybe he lost it on a Potions accident," I said bored.

"You think?" Ron asked sounding hopeful. Hermione rolled her eyes and wacked him on the head with her book.

* * *

That evening, the Gryffindor common room was nosier than usual. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I sat together next to a window. Hermione and I were both checking their Charms' essays and telling them what was wrong and (form my part) some explanations. As much as these guys were my friends – sort of – I wasn't going to let them copy on Charms, because it was the only subject I liked and was good at it.

Harry who had been fidgeting since the last hour suddenly said, "I'm going to ask Snape if he can give me back the book."

Sharing a look, both Hermione and Ron replied, "Better you than me."

I could feel Harry's hopeful eyes making holes on the back of my head, but flipping a page of my Charms book, I told him it was nice to have met him. I smiled hearing him groan.

Not ten minutes later, I heard a sharp take of breath, making me look up in curiosity.

Harry was panting and holding his right side.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked but when he saw the state his friend was, he quickly added, "What's the matter?"

"You look like if you have seen Snape giving candies," I said bluntly making Harry smile but it disappeared as he grew serious.

"You're not going to believe this," he started and quietly told us that when he went down to the Dungeons, he found Filch handing Snape bandages because his leg was mangled and bleeding. They both had talked in hushed voices and Harry had seen Snape complain about the three- headed dog on the third floor.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him — he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

"You're right Harry," I said, "I don't believe it." Harry rolled his eyes.

"No – he wouldn't," Hermione said with wide eyes. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

"It must be something important – or extremely powerful to need that dog to protect it," I commented, closing my book with a quiet snap. "Either way, we need to stay sharp and see what happens from there."

* * *

_Third POV_

Harry had just finished preparing his Quidditch robes for the next day and had set his Nimbus 2000 next to his bed, looking at it with a last admiring expression and trying to imagine how it would look tomorrow at his first Quidditch game.

His first Quidditch game. The reminding of tomorrow brought a serious lapse of nervousness to Harry at the mere thought of it. What if he screwed? What if he wasn't amazing like Oliver Wood had said he was? What if he didn't see the snitch and Gryffindor lose against Slytherin?

And there was Snape too. What was the dog guarding to cause Snape want it so badly? Maybe Annie was right and it was something powerful, but for what did Snape wanted to use it for?

The murderous expression on Snape's face wasn't easy to forget, and Harry just wished he hadn't seen it today, when he was feeling restless for tomorrow's game.

A soft knock stopped his train of thoughts. Looking outside the window, Harry saw that it was almost midnight and his curiosity got the better of him. Who was it? Peering at everyone's beds (Neville was snoring loudly) he quietly made his way to the door and opened it to look.

There wasn't anyone standing outside. A flash of annoyance flared through Harry, who wondered if this was someone's idea of a prank, but when he once again inspected looking up and down the stairs, he found something colliding against his foot.

He hissed in pain, and was ready to swear but the moment he saw a _Quidditch Through Ages_ copy made him fell silent. Bending down to grab it, Harry found out that it was the same book Hermione had lent him. Dumbstruck, he turned through pages and indeed, he found the bookmark he had placed this morning before Snape had snatched it away.

Confusion and curiosity filed his mind. How did it appear here? Although this was a magical school, Harry was pretty sure it couldn't have appeared out of nowhere. Snape probably would have keep it locked on his office. _But still…_

Shrugging and mentally thanking however had done this, Harry smiled to himself and climbed to his bed with the book on his hand, opening to read it where he had left. Harry fell asleep with it on his chest, all of his worries forgotten as dreams of flying brooms invaded his mind.

* * *

_Anya's POV_

Without Harry knowing, Neville, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had helped us paint a large banner on one of Ron's sheets that his pet rat, Scabbers, had ruined. I still don't understand why we wrote '_Potter for_ _President_', but Seamus said it sounded cool. Dean, who was good at drawing, and with a little help of my part (meaning practically none), had drawn a lion underneath, then Hermione charmed it to flash different colors.

At exactly eleven o' clock, the whole school walked down at the Quidditch pitch and settled on their seats, waiting eagerly for the teams to come out of the lockers. Though Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff weren't playing, they had come to support their preferred House and many of them were carrying binoculars to see. Hermione had brought hers though, so she, Ron and I were going to share them.

The crowd broke into loud cheers as the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams finally walked out to the stadium. Even though I wasn't the sports type, I cheered along Hermione and Ron when Harry appeared in our sight. I was pleased to see he wasn't as nervous as he was this morning; I had hoped that stealing the Quidditch book under Snape's nose and returning it to Harry would help to soothe his nerves a little.

Dean and Ron, being the tallest of us, raised the banner high above us, trying to making it stand out of the crowd.

Both teams surround Madam Hooch, who was giving them a pep talk and after giving the evil eye at the Slytherin Captain, she yelled for them to mount their brooms. I saw Harry looking around nervously, and when he caught sight of our banner, his mouth lifted a little.

Then the whistle went off.

The fifteen players rose up high on the air and soared through the pitch.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Lee Jordan, the boy with dreadlocks and known friend of the Weasley twins was doing the commentary for the match while being watched closely by Professor McGonagall's eye.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he's going to sc— no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she's really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

I clapped loudly among the cheers from Gryffindor and the loud howls and groans of the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron, Hermione and I squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join us.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry. I chuckled.

"I wouldn't say that too soon, Hagrid," I muttered, eyeing one of the bludgers as it flew by and almost hit Harry, but Fred Weasley dived in front of him and hit it furiously to the Slytherin Captain.

"Slytherin in possession, Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?"

Intrigued and excited, I leaned forwards slightly. Pucey had dropped the Quaffle because a golden gleam had gone past his left ear. Harry and Terence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, dived forwards and neck-to-neck, they hurtled, and Harry raised his hand slowly –

WHAM! I felt myself tense as Marcus Flint blocked Harry and sent him off course.

"FOOL!" screamed all the Gryffindors as one.

"Red card!" Dean was yelling. "Send him off! That was Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron, staring angrily at Flint as Madam Hooch gave him an earful.

"Red card!" Dean said furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan's voice carried from the commentator box and we all could hear he wasn't happy either.

"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul…"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you—"_

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

I continued to watch the game alternating my eyes between Angelina Johnson who had the Quaffle and Harry –

Whose broom was trying to throw him?

"What the hell?" I said aloud. "Hermione, give me the binoculars!"

Looking mildly offended, Hermione handed them over and I didn't waste time to look through them.

Harry was trying to turn his broom towards the Gryffindor goal-posts but every time he tried, it gave a sudden lurch and he had to grasp the wooden handle with both hands and knees. The broom then went zigzagging through the air making dangerous swishing movements that made him let go sometimes.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid said, who was looking through his own binoculars as well. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom… but he can't have…"

People on the stands began to point at Harry, noticing his unusual behavior. Harry's broom had begun to roll and roll over, and he barely seemed to be holding on for dear life. Then it jerked and Harry was swinging off, dangling with just one hand. The crowd gasped.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" said Seamus, his voice suddenly quiet from the shock.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

Hermione's hand suddenly shot in front of me and tried to seize the binoculars but I wasn't going to give them to her. After a silent fight and an angry sound of disbelief from Ron, we both seized one of the lenses and looked – not at Harry – but at the crowd.

"First you both fight – and now you're doing what?" moaned Ron, his freckles standing against his white ashen face.

I shushed him.

"I knew it – there!" Hermione said.

We both had a clear vision of Professor Snape. He was muttering and staring non-stop at Harry, not even blinking or flinching when one of the teachers gasped.

"No way – Snape?!" I gasped. Was it true? Was this really happening? After all the times Harry had said Snape was evil, it was true?

Ron instantly snatched the binoculars from us and I heard his inhale sharply. Not waiting for them to react, I ran down through the crowd.

"What do we do?" I heard Ron say as I disappeared.

"Already on it!" I called back, not waiting for them to answer.

Pushing everyone and muttering apologies to whoever I offended, I made my way through the crowd and went up running to the stand where Snape was. All the teachers were too occupied to even see me pass through them. I almost knocked Professor Quirrell on my way but I managed to stand upright. Crouching down behind Snape, I pulled out from my robes a short yellow and fuchsia cylinder. _Quidditch Through Ages_ hadn't been the only object I had borrowed from Professor Snape's cabinet.

"Lets make things a bit showy," I muttered.

I pulled my wand out of my hair, undoing the knot in which it was tied up. Pointing it at the cylinder, I muttered a few words and a small spark of fire lit it.

As quickly as I could, I ducked and crawled away from them. I waited –

POP! The cylinder disappeared and instead was replaced by a small purple-ish fire which transformed into sparks. Someone shouted fire, and then all the teachers began to panic. Snape himself was trying to get rid of the firework and it wasn't until another person pounded his leg on his rob that he got mad and shoved him, the man knocking Quirrell over.

Instantly, I heard the crowd roar and the Gryffindors cheer, making me realize I had succeed on my mission.

I just got down to the ground when I saw Harry kneeling in the middle of the field, coughing harshly and I thought he was going to puke, but then something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head.

I screamed in pure delight and ran towards him at full speed, engulfing him on a tight embrace as I laughed. Staggering in surprise, Harry laughed too and he twirled me in a circle from the strength of the hug. However, when he released me and set me on my feet, I became aware of the stares of the Quidditch team and even from Ron and Hermione. Bushing madly, I let go of him and cleared my throat, not looking at Harry's amused stare.

"Congratulations Potter," I said loudly. Smiling in disbelief, Harry shook his head and hugged me again.

This time I did let myself smile softly. I could get used to this.

* * *

"It was Snape," Ron was saying as he took a sip of his tea.

After the game ended, we all came with to Hagrid, the Gamekeeper's cabin to celebrate. Harry had introduced Hermione and me to him, and we hit off from there. Hagrid reminded me of a giant teddy-bear (looks scary, but actually has a soft spot for all animals).

"Hermione, Annie and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

The four of us exchanged a dark look. Should we tell him? It was Hagrid after all; he believed in all the teachers of Hogwarts, even on Snape who acted like a slimy git.

"We found out something about him," Harry said finally. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

I jumped surprised when Hagrid dropped his teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy_?" I repeated slowly.

"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it," Harry argued.

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"She's right Hagrid," I sighed in defeat. "Although it could have been a counter-jinx, I doubt Professor Snape would have done one of those."

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh — yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel —"

"Aha!" Harry exclaimed. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

I slapped my forehead as Hagrid began to stammer.


	15. There's always a what if

One morning at the middle of December, the day dawned all white. The trees were completely covered in snow as were the grounds; the Black Lake had frozen and some bolder students actually skated above it; we all could see from the common room's windows how the Weasley twins bewitched several snowballs and send them off to follow Professor Quirrell's turban; the corridors had turned bitter and cold, contrary to the warmth the fires on Gryffindor Tower provided to us.

All in all, this just could mean that the Christmas Holidays were fast approaching. I would often hear students talking how they couldn't wait to see their families. As for me, I quickly signed with McGonagall when I heard you could stay on the castle. I was sad that Hermione wouldn't be here, but both Harry and Ron and his brothers also signed to stay and that somewhat comforted me. Ron said his parents and his little sister were visiting one of his older brothers to Rumania. I think it was Charlie, the one who studied dragons. Or was it Bill, the Curse Breaker? I actually am not sure. And as for Harry, I think he was relieved to be away from his family. When we all asked him how they were, he always answered that they were not "normal" Muggles, and that was the only vague response we would get from him. Except that being me and actually had seen his family before (I am completely sure Harry was the boy from the zoo trip), I could say he was as fond of them as I was of Mrs. Darcy.

"I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home," said Draco Malfoy in one of the Potion classes.

Rolling my eyes, I looked over at Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish. He ignored it when Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. I didn't see anything fun of it.

Ever since Gryffindor won, Malfoy had tried to convince everyone how Harry could be easily replaced by a frog. But the loud-mouthed git realized that no one paid him attention because they were all impressed by Harry's skills. So, Malfoy returned to taunt Harry, this time about not having proper family.

I turned towards him. "Shut it Malfoy! You don't let me concentrate!"

And I needed to. This specific Potion was highly dangerous… for plants. But I wasn't sure if Herbicide could hurt the human skin.

"Oh, I got to you, Barton?" Malfoy smirked. "Tell me, did they chuck you out of the Orphanage like Potter's family did to him?"

"One more word Malfoy," I growled. "One _more_ word and I swear you'll regret it."

I turned around, glowering at the powdered spine of lionfish.

"At least Potter has a family. Your parents didn't want you, did they Barton?"

I stiffened.

And so did Harry and Ron when they saw my blank expression.

Malfoy had _so_ crossed the line.

I looked down at the book, and after reading, I grabbed a bunch of Porcupine Quills from last class and stood up from the bench. Eyes turned on me as I calmly walked to Malfoy's table; Hermione's incredulous hisses could be heard and I saw Professor Snape turn to look what was happening.

Once I was across Malfoy, I smiled brightly. Everyone recoiled back.

_Hmm, just when I thought they weren't smart._

"Miss Barton, what are you –"

I dropped the Porcupine Quills on his cauldron. The water hissed and bubbles started to form; green turned to a pale blue and that's when I ducked.

The cauldron exploded, making nearby girls shriek. The boys were yelling and there was a lot of coughing. Thick smoke had surrounded us above, but I fortunately could see both Ron and Harry under their table, Hermione shooting me glares.

"Why did you do that?" she hissed.

I smirked and shrugged.

"I warned him to be careful. 'S not my fault he didn't listen."

Ron laughed while Harry couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his face. We all high-fived.

"BARTON!"

* * *

We left the Dungeons with slight happy and annoyed expressions. Professor Snape had taken thirty points from Gryffindor and had demanded to know why I had done it. _All in that order. _But knowing how Snape was, I wasn't going to tell him my sob story to get out of trouble. I did it because Malfoy deserved it and I was proud of it. At least I didn't get Detention, but that was probably because today was the last day of classes.

"You scared me, Anne," said Ron as we got out. "Smiling like that – and at Malfoy, no less! I thought you lost your marbles!"

"What do you mean?" Hermione said sharply. "She lost us thirty points! What were you thinking, Annie?!"

I scoffed. "Something that particularly said, 'God, can't he just shut up?' He was annoying me, and besides, he was annoying Harry too."

"I'll stay out of this conversation," Harry said with a sigh.

"Well, I thought it was – Hi, Hagrid, want any help?"

Blocking the corridor, we could see Hagrid's boots under the big pine tree.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's usual drawl behind us. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron turned and was ready to dive at Malfoy, but he stopped short at the sight. I burst out laughing.

Malfoy had turned all blue, and the only thing that stood out was his blond hair.

"Malfoy you –" even Ron couldn't stay put and laughed loudly, grabbing Harry for support. Harry was smiling and chuckling, while Hermione couldn't hide very well her giggling.

"Well, well – aren't you quite the Smurfette?" I choked out. Dean Thomas, who was passing by, snorted and began to laugh. In fact, all the Gryffindors were laughing, and for those who understood my pun laughed harder.

With his nose high in the way, Malfoy briskly walked away, looking more and more confused about why students pointed at him and laughed.

"Five points from Gryffindor," said Professor Snape silkily behind us.

Ron gaped at him and demanded, "_What for_?!"

"For assaulting students behind their backs, Weasley," Snape said. I sputtered.

"Assaulting students? It was only the potion! If the blue doesn't disappear by tomorrow that only means Malfoy doesn't like to shower! Or did you even hear what he said."

"Anne 'S right, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' Ron's family."

"Are you deaf or something?" I exclaimed. "You put a blind eye to what really happens around you. What's wrong with you?!"

"There goes another five points, Barton!" he snapped. "Open that mouth of yours and your house will lose more than just forty points today."

"Great," I breathed, glaring at Snape's back as he returned to his dungeon lair. "I lost us forty points in one class. Must be a new record for Hogwarts."

"Don't worry, Annie," said Ron, clapping a hand on my shoulder. He was looking to where Malfoy had disappeared. "We'll get them one of these days."

"I hate them both," said Harry from Hermione's side, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

We followed Hagrid and his tree to the Great Hall, which was being decorated now y Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you?"

It was marvelous. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles. From the tip of his wand, Professor Flitwick formed golden bubbles and settled them around the trees.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me — Harry, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," Ron trailed off, looking away from the decorations.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following us out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You what?" Hagrid said, looking shocked. "Listen here - I've told yeh - drop it. It' nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," Hermione said.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere — just give us a hint — I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin', said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," Ron said shrugging.

* * *

"Alchemy, Alchemy, Alchemy…" I muttered absently as I searched through the shelves. I grabbed a book, looked at the title, and then threw it up to return to his place. It was the routine I had imposed to myself when we started investigating.

Ever since we heard about Flamel, the other three decided to search for him on the library, claiming we needed to know what Snape was trying to steal. Honestly, I was beginning to feel sick for all the amount of time we had spent here. Ron actually agreed with me, but both Harry and Hermione didn't pay him attention because he never bothers to open a book unless McGonagall says so.

So much for the vote of confidence.

The Flamel name rang inside my head. It was as if I already had heard of him. Or did I read it? Dunno, but it had been before I came to Hogwarts. It was possible that I had seen the name on the Muggle Library Mrs. Darcy had once been keen to go all the time. All in all, I just remember this Flamel had something to do with Alchemy… _I think so_. Either way, it was a start.

I heard footsteps coming behind me and I turned my head slightly. Harry wasn't walking on my way but towards the Restricted Section, which was across from the large bookshelf I was looking into.

"I wouldn't go there if I was you," I said. Harry jumped slightly and looked at me with curiosity and slight annoyance.

"What do you mean?"

"Well –"

"What are you looking for, boy?" a voice called sharply behind me. Madam Pince was glaring at Harry, tightening the grip on her feather duster. The image of her whacking us on the head with it made me snort. Her head snapped on my way, and seeming almost impossible, her glare turned mutinous.

"Ah – you are here too! I should've known," she said crossly, eyeing the both of us as her face turned a puce color. Madam Pince had her arms on her hips and was tapping her foot angrily on the marble floor. "Wasn't the last time enough, girl?"

I blushed. "That was an accident!"

She bristled. "Yes, of course!" Her tone suggested sarcasm. "I see you both plan to carry on the tradition your parents left! Now, both of you get out. Go on, get out –"

"Did we just got kicked out?" I asked angrily as we waited outside the oak doors of the library. I looked incredulously at Harry. "From a _library_?"

Harry shrugged. "It seems so. What did she mean with 'Wasn't the last time enough?' though?" he was starting to grin at the end, his eyes suddenly twinkling with mischief. Harry Potter and _mischief_? _There's always a first time for everything_, a tiny voice whispered in my head.

I scratched my neck awkwardly. "Er, the first day Hermione dragged us both here. And while she looked around, I got lost and ended on the Restricted Section."

Harry snorted and I puffed out my cheeks. "_What_?" I said defensively.

"That is – it's something it could only happen to you, actually."

I frowned. "Whadda ya mean?" I drawled slowly.

He smiled. "You don't seem to do things because you want them to happen, but rather by accident."

I felt my eyebrows knit together. "Now you got me confused." Harry sighed.

"Instance, when you yelled to all the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws down the Transfiguration corridor; I think you scared them all."

The corner of my mouth lifted sheepishly. "I'm not exactly subtle, you see."

He grinned. "I noticed."

Five minutes later, Hermione and Ron joined us, shaking their heads.

"Nothing? Really?" I turned to Hermione gravelly. "I am beginning to think you're losing your charm, Hermione."

She scowled.

"What we need is time," Hermione said. "I will try to look more fondly through my books during the Holidays. You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you? And send me an owl if you find anything," she added, addressing me at the end.

I gave her the thumbs up. "You got it."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," Ron said. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," she said with a roll of her eyes.

* * *

But once the holidays started, I was on my own. Both Harry and Ron had completely forgotten about this Flamel guy we were supposed to be investigating, and both had let me alone on the library. It hurt, but what could one do? Is not like if I knew them well.

Taking advantage of all the free time I had in hands, I spent my afternoons in the Owlery. I was doing what I called "_Mail Shopping_", and wrote a few letters to shops in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. I had taken the liberty to ask Percy Weasley how did students got presents for their friends when we were on school. Instead of answering like a normal person would, Percy had given me catalogs and a small pack of stamps.

"These are not like the ones Muggles use," he had said. "Each has a design for their shop. Write what you exactly want and put your name on the envelope. After that, just send it by owl with a note on your handwriting stating you have given permission to the Gringotts' goblins to open your vault. It should be easy."

Easy my arse. I had to read all the catalogues to know which stamp was what and besides that, I still was trying to decide what to buy. Ron was actually pretty easy; I was going to give him the special Chudley Canon's Fan pack (which contained cards signed by the players, a t-shirt and a book about them). I already knew I was going to give to Hermione. A book; the problem was, about what?

And I am pretty lost with Harry. I mean, what could I give him? Despite that trouble likes to find him, I don't know anything about Harry. Now thinking about it, he doesn't tell much about himself at all.

Huh… it seems he and me are the secretive ones of our small group.

* * *

"Professor McGonagall," I walked up to the teacher in question. She was waving her wand, snow falling on the trees.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at me.

"Miss Barton? What is it? I am a bit busy."

I smiled. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

Her face turned a little sour, mixed with a bit of fondness. I blinked.

"Last time a student said those words, I immediately regretted it," she grimaced. "And I still do. Even after fourteen years. What is it, then?"

* * *

The first year Girls' dormitory was very lonely on Christmas morning.

None of my fellow Gryffindor girls had wanted to spend their first Christmas on Hogwarts; they had been either too homesick or nostalgic to do so. And I think Parvati Patil had mentioned she wanted to find her ideal summer romance in these days. She clearly forgot we were in the beginning of winter.

Waking up without my personal human alarm had been slightly disappointing. I would never tell Hermione, but I just faked being asleep for her to wake me. It made me happy to irk her a little on the mornings.

Sighing, I sang Merry Christmas over and over as I changed clothes and brushed my teeth.

Half-asleep, I went around my bed to get my Nikes and that's when I noticed something at the end of the bed above my trunk.

There was a small pile of packages on it.

When I said small, I meant really small. But I honestly didn't care. Only Natasha had bothered to give me a gift during all my short life, and that only happened on my Birthdays or Christmases.

The pack on the top was a lumpy parcel. Intrigued, I ripped it open and found a hand-knitted sweater inside. The fabric was warm and soft at the touch. Turning it on my hands as if it was the most precious thing on the world, I saw it was a royal blue color and had a golden A knitted on the front. The parcel also contained a box of homemade fudges and a Christmas card signed by Ron's parents, both wishing me a Happy Christmas and an invitation to spend the summer on their house.

I giddily put on the sweater and tucked the card safely at the bottom of my trunk.

The next present was from Hermione. Although I was getting sick from the library, Hermione still remembered I was a lover of books… as long as they weren't teaching things. She had sent me a special edition copy of _Frankenstein_ of Mary Shelley. Now I was hoping she liked her Fifth year book Transfiguration.

Ron had given me sweets of many types. I liked them though, because they were magical and some of them went off like small explosions, or the sugar quills would suddenly shine brightly and transform into another flavor.

The small box at the bottom had Natasha's neat calligraphy written on the side. It contained a pack of quills with red, yellow and blue feathers and a small bottle of ink, changing to whichever color I preferred.

From Harry, I got a beautiful leather book with the Hogwarts crest. "_I saw you writing once_," he wrote on a note. "_I thought you would like to have something more comfortable_." I smiled, trying to remember when had been the last time I had got out all of my frustrations, and if Harry had been around at the time.

And lastly there were two envelopes left. One of them contained a Christmas card from Neville Longbottom, wishing me a happy time and apologizing again about me missing the flying class. The card was beautifully adorned with a purple flower that sparkled on the light.

Putting the card besides the others gifts, I began to open the last letter. It felt somewhat heavier than it should. Two things fell at once: a small note and a silver chain with two rings on it. Frowning in confusion, I first opted to read the note. I had seen this type of writing before, and it was almost the same as Natasha's own style. But it wasn't; the person who sent this wrote the A's differently and the L's were curvier than hers.

_This belonged to your father._

_These gifts should be enough to make you happy._

_Happy Christmas_

It didn't say who sent it.

More curious, I opted to watch closely the rings. One was golden and the other silver; the golden ring was a marriage band. The silver ring instead had a pair of wings carved on the band with a small blue gem between them.

Blinking back the tears, I put the chain on myself. It was obvious the rings belonged to my mum. _Her proposal and marriage rings. _I caressed it with my thumb and my pointing fingers. It could have been sent by Natasha.

_But I already opened her gift._

Whoever had gotten his hands on this… he or she had known my parents. _Fondly_.

With a scoff (I was getting ahead of the facts), looked down at the envelope and saw a something inside it. I hoped it wasn't their fingers now because I already was searching inside it. I didn't need to get myself scarred for life.

I choked back a scream and threw away the… '_Thing_'.

They were kidding me, right? Someone had just thought this was beautiful or something but I specially felt it was too much for me.

"Annie!" I heard Ron's voice yell from downstairs. "Come on! We are going down to the Great Hall!"

For the first time (and last one, I think), I was completely glad for Ron's obtrusive attitude. Jumping up to my feet, I thrust myself under my bed to grab a purple parcel with a golden ribbon, and ran outside to meet Harry and the Weasleys.

* * *

The Great Hall looked like if it had been visited by the godmother fairies of the Fairytales. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the large single table that had replaced the four Houses' tables. The ceiling was snowing – _literally_, and I saw a few older students doing snow figurines with it; the Christmas trees were lined against the walls, reminding me strongly of how sentinels were.

Before we all ate, Harry and I decided to try and open one of the wizard crackers. It didn't just bang; it went off like a blast from a canon, and engulfed us with blue smoke. I _may_ or not may have screamed when I saw all the white mice around my plate; lucky Harry got a rear admiral's hat though.

Up at the teacher's place, Mr. Dumbledore had swapped his pointed hat with a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had told him. Before I forgot to do so, I grabbed the purple gift I had brought down with me and ran at the High table. I tapped the old man's shoulder, and I waited until he fully faced me.

"Merry Christmas, sir," I said, smiling and giving him the gift. Dumbledore chuckled and accepted it, making me smile a little more widely.

"Merry Christmas as well, Miss Barton. However, I regret to say I don't have anything to give you in return to such kindness," his blue eyes twinkled, "or perhaps…"

He grabbed a nearby wizard cracker and together, we pulled it. The thing went off like a firework and shot golden and green sparks. A white mist surrounded us and when it disappeared, there was a ukulele on Mr. Dumbledore's hands.

Smiling and laughing, I grabbed the small guitar and kissed the old man's cheek.

When I returned to the students' table, I saw everyone gaping at me. Thinning my lips, I asked Ron to pass me the sauce, ignoring the fact that my cheeks had turned faintly hot.

A little later, we all heard Hagrid laughing and saw him asking for more wine, ending with a kiss on Professor McGonagall's cheek. I thought she would splutter and go raving mad, but instead, she surprised us all when she giggled so hardly her hat ended hanging lopsided on her head.

I shook my head, muffling my laugh with a muffin. Ron and Harry though, had to hide their heads under the table, their laughs echoing loudly under us; Fred and George Weasley, however, just burst out when they saw it. I think it had been only Percy who almost fainted.

When we finally left the table, I was carrying my ukulele, a kaleidoscope that when you looked through, changed people's appearances when you pointed it at them, a ballerina doll that dance around by its own, luminous balloons that could live on and on, and I was wearing a Mexican Mariachi hat.

The Weasleys, Harry and I then proceeded to go outside and have the biggest (and dangerous, may I add) snow fight Hogwarts had seen. Then, cold and gasping (and with snow melting on very private places), we returned to Gryffindor Tower. When I took a shower, I was informed by the Weasley twins that Harry broke his new chess set (provided by one of the wizard crackers) after losing spectacularly against Ron. ("Harry should learn to not listen to Percy," said George after wiping a fake tear).

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been the best Christmas ever for me. Full and tired, I entered the girls' dormitory, feeling grateful for its emptiness. I packed everything I got today and hang the ukulele and the Mariachi hat on my bedpost. After shaking my Nikes off and climbing my bed, I finally noticed the gift that had shaken me badly this morning.

Biting my lip, I went to retreat it and shoved it into my drawer.

Hugging my middle, I stared determinately at the ceiling, ignoring the itching of my hand to open the drawer and look at the 'thing'.

I closed my eyes tightly.

"I have to move on," I whispered. "I can't keep wondering."

It was a time later that I fell asleep, a lonely tear had run down one of my cheeks without me noticing at all.

* * *

"You did what?!"

"Shh! Lower your voice!" Harry hissed.

"You could have woken me up, mate," said Ron, crossly. I made a tsk sound and swatted his head. "OW!"

"Aren't you hearing what he just said?" I hissed. "He was almost caught by Filch – and God forbid it, Snape. If he had caught you, we wouldn't be here talking with you!" I pointed angrily at Harry. He scowled.

"Yeah, but he didn't!"

"But he could have! If you plan to do something like this again, at least take Ron with you."

"I second that," Ron raised his hand.

"Now that you mention it, I _do_ plan to return," said Harry with a faint smile. "You both can come; I want to show you the mirror."

I sighed exasperated as Ron said, "I'd like to see your mom and dad."

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people."

"Or maybe just what we want to see," I said. "It's really unlucky how you couldn't find about Flamel though."

"What's the verdict, judge?" said Ron as he poured pumpkin juice on his glass. "Are we allowed to go tonight, or will you rat us out to Hermione?" I huffed.

"The one who'll come with the battle scars would be me, Weasley. Tonight it will be and I am going to come with you," Harry beamed. "You both need someone to keep you out of trouble, and it's my duty to replace Hermione until she returns."

"Have some bacon or something," Ron suggested, "why aren't you eating anything?"

I looked up from my fork. Harry was frowning and looking constipated about something.

"You look odd," I said. He didn't answer.

This mirror he found… I didn't have a very good hunch about this. Did it show families? The dead? Or like I said… it just made us see what we wanted to see?

* * *

What I really feared was that Harry might not be able to find the mirror again and get us lost. With both Ron and I under the Invisibility cloak he got yesterday, we now had to be more cautious with our steps and walked slowly around the dark hallways. We tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the passageways for nearly an hour. My feet were hurting and my eyes felt heavy, but I didn't say anything.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."

We passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, I spotted the suit of armor Harry mentioned before.

"It's here — just here — yes!" Harry exclaimed in a hushed voice.

We pushed the door open.

It was an unused classroom. Desks and chairs were piled against the walls and there was a wastepaper basket turned upside. On the wall facing us, there was a long mirror, almost as high as the ceiling. Ornate golden frame, and standing on its two clawed feet, words had been written around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Harry dropped the cloak around his shoulders and ran to face the mirror eagerly. Ron and I shared concerned looks.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything," Ron told him.

I turned my neck awkwardly to read what it said. _I show not your face but your heart's desire._

"Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…"

"Harry," I started, "we only see _you. _No one else is there."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, letting Ron take his place. I still couldn't see anything, but I was sure my theory of seeing what you want to see was correct.

Ron gasped, staring transfixed at his reflection.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?" said Harry promptly.

"No — I'm alone — but I'm different — I look older — and I'm head boy!"

"What?" I asked in unison with Harry.

"I am — I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to — and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup — I'm Quidditch captain, too."

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at us.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"You being better than your brothers?" I raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk when I saw him turn red. "No, I don't think it shows the future at all."

"How can it?" agreed Harry. "All my family are dead — Annie, go and have a look!"

"The hell I will," I said with a serious tone. "Guys, I think this mirror show us what we want; really _really_ want to happen and be true. Otherwise, how could you both have seen two completely different things?"

"Not sure," Ron said grimacing.

"Not until you walk there and tell us what you can see," said Harry, scowling. I crossed my arms and glared at him.

"I won't."

Harry nodded grimly. Turning around so my back faced him, I went to kneel toward the cloak when I suddenly felt two arms grab me from behind.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Ron said, surprised at the display. I was struggling to free myself, but he had a tight grip on my forearms. Since when scrawny Harry had gotten the energy to carry a person?!

"Oi! Let me down!"

"No! I need to know!"

"If you don't let go, I'll have to hurt you!" I threatened. Harry scoffed.

"Like if I haven't heard that before."

"Ron, back me up!"

Said boy raised his hands in a soothing way and just gave a few steps away from the mirror.

"I'm not going to take sides on this one," he said.

"Thanks mate!" Harry and I deadpanned at him.

"No Harry, seriously, I already know what I will see – stop it, you dimwit – _Potter_!"

Much to my dismay, he already had dragged me to the mirror and I found myself facing it. I was going to yell, to scream, whatever it took to make him let go of me, but I was too shocked to do anything though.

It wasn't just me and Harry I could see inside. There were two couples behind our reflections; the same young man on the photo we saw in the trophy room looked slightly older by a few years, and he seemed to watch us with tired eyes. The woman on his side was beautiful; her dark red hair made her skin look extremely pale compared to the tan her husband had. Her eyes – _God, her eyes_ – were exactly the same as Harry's; almond-shaped and green like emeralds. The Potters beamed at us and looked at the couple beside them.

They looked more refined than them. The man was the tallest of the group; his pale skin couldn't compare with Mrs. Potter's, and he had pure black hair, which was neatly brushed to the side. His eyes were downturned and hazel. He waved at me kindly. The woman hanging on his arm was as tall as Mr. Potter; she had lustrous and wavy black hair (the same way as mine did), her eyes were a striking grey and she had an air of casual elegance. Gaping, I realized she was the same girl who appeared with Mr. Potter on the Quidditch photo.

Smiling, Cassie Barton put a hand on my reflection's head and ruffled my hair lovingly. I raised a hand to my head, not looking away from the mirror. I had to remind myself it wasn't real when disappointment flashed through me. I had become too transfixed on the reflection to notice she wasn't touching me.

_It wasn't real. They weren't here. They were dead. I have to move on._

I kept chanting on my head, the words fading as I saw more people appear behind them. My mother's twin brother walked from behind my mother and sent us a smirk; in the middle, between my father and Mrs. Potter, Natasha Rosenberg appeared. For once, her smile was genuine and wasn't faked or seemed held tightly by years of sadness. On Mr. Potter's other side appeared a man with sandy hair and wise brown eyes; behind him was a younger woman with hair that changed brightly and she was smiling and waving at Harry and I enthusiastically.

It was what I expected to see… but at the same time it wasn't.

"Who are they?" Harry breathed. "There's my Dad – and Mom too! But I don't recognize the other people!"

"Guys, someone's coming!" said Ron nervously.

But both of us didn't move. Seeing we weren't going to move, he went for the cloak and threw it over us. Not a second later, the door was pushed open and Mrs. Norris yellow eyes shone in the dark. Peering right and left, she deemed empty the room and turned to leave.

"This isn't safe — she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."

And Ron pulled Harry and me out of the room.

* * *

I stared outside through a window. The snow hadn't melted yet.

Last night's events had left me shaken and I didn't sleep very well because of it. I had a pretty good guess about what that mirror was. Didn't the works on the frame say it all?

I tried to forget it by doing a lot of things. I had made Ron teach me chess and he had gladly accepted to do so, as long as it involved distracting ourselves from the Mirror's haunting images; I know he still had the image of himself being Head Boy and Quidditch captain, and I know he still wonders if he could make it.

That damned mirror brought questions once more, and this time, I wasn't the one suffering.

Chess didn't work, so I sorted myself to doodle on my new leather notebook while staring at the Weasley twins enchanting snowballs at their older brother.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron at a silent green-eyed boy.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?" I suggested weakly, already knowing what he would say.

"No… you both go…"

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror," said Ron suddenly. "Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?" Harry asked, sounding annoyed.

I quickly looked down at my unfinished drawing of the Queen chess piece, feeling Ron's gaze wander over me.

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it — and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

I smirked faintly. Ron indeed sounded like Hermione, and as Hermione would be, he was right in everything he said.

"I'm serious, Harry, don't go."

When Ron said loudly that he was going to ask Fred and George where the entrance to the kitchens was, I understood that was his way of telling me it was my turn to talk to Harry.

Sighing in defeat, I closed my notebook and went to seat next to Harry by the fireplace. I didn't say anything at first, but Harry was the one who started a conversation first.

"Say it," he said glumly. "I know you'll warn me to not go to see the mirror again or you'll tell Hermione, or something like Ron said."

I let out a breath.

"I already know you have set your mind about it, so why bother Potter?" his eyes widened in surprise. "I'll tell you though, that Ron's right."

Harry smiled.

"He would have loved to hear that."

I rolled my eyes. "What I mean is that it isn't healthy for you. If you keep going to the mirror, you'll start wondering," He furrowed his eyebrows. "How it could have been? Would it have been different? Would I still be the same way I am? Could I have had more brothers or sisters? Would I have been happy?

"All those questions… they would make you stop living… they would make you start longing for something you know you won't have, _ever_. That's why I didn't want to see that mirror."

I opened my notebook and gave him an envelope.

"Open it. It's your late Christmas present. Mind you, I had to get help from McGonagall for this, so it would be better if you thanked her."

I heard the sound of ripping and Harry's gasp.

"I know what you feel, because we both want the same; meet the family we could have had if Voldemort hadn't existed." I lowered my head to my knees. "I always ask myself if they loved me; I always wonder why they had abandoned me on an Orphanage. There's always a'what if'. I don't want you to do the same; it's sick."

Without waiting for a response, I abruptly stood up and sat on the window again. Looking down at my envelope, I realized I had been lucky. Contrary to Harry, I had been ready before facing my parents.


	16. Nicholas Flamel

**Hey guys, I just made a tumblr about Anya's story. If you want to check it out, the page is on my profile. It's going to be quite empty for a few time, but once I finish rewriting the second book, (and rewrite a certain part of the third one) I promise I will add more.**

**Three more steps to the fifth year, here it goes!**

* * *

_Third POV_

"So, back again Harry?"

Harry felt as if his body had been frozen. He had been so careless and just wanted to see his family one more time that he forgot to made sure no one was inside. And now, Albus Dumbledore was sitting on one of the desks watching him. What made it worse was that he didn't sound scolding, just curious about his whereabouts.

"I — I didn't see you, sir," said Harry as he flushed.

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling. "So," the Headmaster continued, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It — well — it shows me my family —"

"And it showed your friends a different image all together."

"How did you know —?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry turned thoughtful.

"Annie said it showed us what we truly want… something we could never have…"

"An accurate way to interpret it, but no," Dumbledore said quietly. "This mirror, Harry, it show us the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is.

"But for us it is quite the opposite… you, Harry, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

"But, Sir," said Harry as if a bulb had lightened up inside his head. "When Annie and I saw the mirror together, it didn't show only my parents –"

"Ah Harry, you see, Miss Barton wishes the same as you. But when your desires mixed together inside the mirror, it transformed them into something more."

"What was it?"

"It showed you both what it could have been, Harry."

* * *

_Anya's POV_

The rest of the Holidays flew by, and next I knew, students were arriving a day before the classes started. Ron and I (Harry was too depressed to participate) played rock-scissors-paper to see who was going to tell Hermione what happened with the Mirror. I am very proud to announce Ron didn't stand a chance.

As we had thought, Hermione's reaction had been quite interesting.

"If Filch had caught you!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. I had shushed her because she had brought all the attention on us. "Tell me at least you found something about Flamel?"

Ron shook his head. She was very disappointed.

Worst was that once the term started, we were back to skimming through books in our free time. Harry told me privately that he thinks he had read it somewhere but he couldn't exactly tell where. In exchange, I told him I know it's famous enough to be read in the Muggle world.

But he had no time to ponder my words because he was often caught in Quidditch practice these days. Oliver Wood was becoming a fanatic, making his team train under the rain and coming back all dirty with mud. It worries me that Harry agreed with the fifteen year old though.

Then, one of these days while Ron and Hermione played chess and I sat watching them bored, Harry came back wet and with mud all over his uniform. I was the first one to notice the expression on his face; it was as if someone had been murdered.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to him, "I need to concen— what's the matter with you? You look terrible."

Harry took a deep breath and in a rushed way, and whispering as if the words were a death sentence, said, "Snape's going be referee the next Quidditch match."

I looked up sharply, no longer bored. The death sentence idea was probably right.

"Don't play," Hermione said, her hands held tightly on her lap.

"Say you're ill," I piped lightly.

"No, no – that would be too obvious – better pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"_Really_ break your leg," said Ron.

I raised my hand. "I'll personally do it for you."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, looking horrified at me. "I mean – I can't. There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

"Isn't more important your safety than a game, though?" I mused.

Harry opened his mouth to argue but before he had a chance to say a single word, the sound of laughter reached our ears. We all looked at the entrance of the common room, catching sight of Neville toppling inside. Holding himself against the wall, I saw what his problem was. Both his legs had been stuck together with what I recognized as the Leg-Locker Curse. It was horrible to see him struggle trying to not fell flat onto his face while he hopped helplessly.

As he was about to fall, I jumped up and grabbed his shoulders roughly. He winced and muttered an apology.

"SHUT UP!" I roared over the round of laughter. "Someone of your own House has been cursed, and all you do is laugh instead of helping him?!"

Gryffindors shifted uneasily in silence and others boldly (or stupidly) decided to glare at me. Cough'Cough'LavenderBrownandCormacMcLaggen'Cough'C ough.

While I had been yelling, Hermione (the only one who didn't laugh beside me. _NOTE TO MYSELF: Swat both Harry and Ron later_) had leaped up and done the countercurse on Neville; legs springing apart, Neville sagged against me. I led him over at where I had sat before.

"Thanks," he whispered tearfully. I smiled ruefully.

"Didn't I promise before? I am not going to let you fall."

"What happened?" Hermione asked worriedly as she sat on Neville's left.

"Malfoy," he said shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron said. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out. I frowned.

"Don't think like that," I scolded. "True bravery is admitting we are afraid. Most of the Gryffindors here don't show their real personalities. You may never know, but it's probable you have a sleeping lion inside you," I shrugged, rubbing my hand on his shoulder. "It only needs to be awoken."

"Annie's right Neville," said Harry as he pulled out a Chocolate Frog from his pocket. "You're worth twelve of Malfoy. The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched into a weak smile as he accepted the Frog.

"Thanks guys… I think I'll go to bed… Do you want the card, Harry? You collect them, don't you?"

He gave Harry the card and walked up the right stairs. As I watched sadly his departure, Harry said absently, "Dumbledore again. He was the first one I ever —"

A gasp made me turn around. Harry was staring intently at the back of the card. Shock, happiness and disbelief flickered through his eyes as he looked up at the three of us.

"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here — listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"

"Alchemy?!" I breathed shocked.

Jumping to her feet, Hermione excitedly ordered to stay in our places and ran up to our dormitory. I sank on my seat and passed a hand through my hair, careful of not touching my wand on its knot.

"All this time," I sighed bitterly, "after all this time… and the answer was under my bed!"

Harry and Ron changed mystified looks and before they could ask what I meant, Hermione came barreling down toward us with her book of light reading.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Ron skeptically eyeing the enormous book across him, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself. I didn't dare to ask her if she wanted a hand, knowing very well she would lash out at me.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the _Sorcerer's Stone_!"

"Say again?" I said sharply. "_THE_ Sorcerer's Stone?"

She nodded excitedly, looking a bit insane if you ask me.

"The what?" Harry and Ron asked together.

Hermione and I looked at them in disbelief.

"Honestly! Don't you two read?" she said annoyed.

"Are you both serious? This thing is famous! I read about it on a Muggle library before, but I didn't think it was real at all!"

I was aware this had to be the first time I showed true shock in public, and the three of them had noticed too but apparently had decided to not comment on it.

"I still don't know what the Sorcerer's stone is," said Ron. I rolled my eyes and as Harry took the book from Hermione's side, I said, "Dumb explanation would be it can create gold or it works as an elixir to make anyone immortal. Like Nicholas Flamel did; I think he's six hundred years old – if not more."

"According to this, he's six hundred and sixty- five years old since last year and his wife, Perenelle, is sixty hundred and fifty-eight," Harry said.

"This must be what the dog is guarding!" said Hermione. "I could bet Nicholas Flamel asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

I waved my hand discarding the comment. "Years older, years younger. Who keeps the count?"

* * *

Next morning in DADA, both Harry and Ron kept telling each other what they would do with the Sorcerer's stone if they had it. Rolling my eyes, I continued to write ways of treating a werewolf bite.

"I'm going to play," blurted out Harry from behind us. Hermione and I turned on our seats with incredulous looks. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them… it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione with a wince.

"You really know how to give boost morale," I mumbled.

* * *

Unbeknown to Harry, the three of us had practiced the Leg-Locker Curse in case of an emergency. We had sat on the stands with Neville, who kept throwing looks at Ron and Hermione when he saw they had brought their wands to the game. He already noticed I always carried my wand as a stick to tie up my hair.

"Now, don't forget, it's _Locomotor Mortis_," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag." I sighed. These two would never stop bickering like an old married couple.

Ron tugged at my sleeve and nodded down at Professor Snape. "I've never seen Snape look so mean."

"He already had that face Ron," I said humorlessly.

"Yeah, I know but –"

"Look – they are off," Hermione said. We both looked at the field but Ron suddenly exclaimed, "Ouch!"

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

It was Malfoy, who was grinning at his apes, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

"Don't you have social life, Malfoy?" I snapped. "You seem to be following us in the most unlikely of the situations."

Malfoy sniffed.

"I _do_ have a life, Barton. Unlike you and Saint Potter, I have better things to do."

"Then go away," Ron snarled, having finished rubbing his head on where the git had hit him.

Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

"Get out of here, you slimy git!" I yelled. "Go to sit with your house, or what – they discovered the true horrible person you're? If so, then just get out of the pitch! No one here from Gryffindor wants to see your shadow."

Malfoy glared at me, and I saw Crabbe and Goyle cracking their knuckles together. I laughed.

"What Malfoy? Don't you have balls enough to confront me, a girl, without your bodyguards? That's the reason why Neville or whoever is sitting here is better than you."

"Longbottom, better than myself? As if!" Malfoy said haughtily. I gritted my teeth, but before I could swear at him, a tiny voice spoke out from behind me.

"I'm worth a twelve of you Malfoy," said Neville stammering.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, not taking his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

My eye twitched. Ron didn't seem to be faring better though.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy — one more word—"

"Ron! Annie!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry —"

"What? Where?!"

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione had risen from her seat, her crossed fingers in her mouth as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"Go Harry, go!" I yelled, waving my hand madly as the Gryffindors cheered loudly for him.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.

It had been the last straw.

Before I even predicted it, Ron already had jumped on top of Malfoy. Hesitating, Neville clambered over the back of his seat to aid the redheaded boy. Rolling my eyes with an exasperated sigh, I followed them.

As Ron and Malfoy rolled on the ground, Neville was fighting off Crabbe. Goyle was ready to attack him, but I jumped on his back and made him fall backwards.

The air was punched out of me as I landed on the hard wooden floor. I groaned, but I still tied my arms around Goyle's neck to not let him stand up. He may be burly and fat, but with my light weight I had more advantage. I thought that maybe he knew that, but I guess I was wrong.

I heard a loud thump and the floor trembled. Looking sideways, I saw Neville lying sprawled on his back with his eyes closed. His nose was bleeding and his left eye had a small scratch.

"Neville!" I exclaimed. Outraged, I pushed Goyle off me and pushed him on the ground before he reacted. My yell had distracted Ron for a few seconds, enough time for Malfoy, to head-butt him on the nose.

Ron groaned but quickly punched Malfoy on the eye, knocking him down. With a hand on his mouth, he stood up rickety on his feet. I quickly went to help him.

"I am alright," he mumbled. I wrinkled my nose when I noticed he was heavily bleeding. "Where's Neville?"

I pointed. Ron groaned.

"We better get Seamus and Dean to help us," he said.

Above us, we heard Hermione cheering loudly and shrieking Harry had won. The deafening roar of the Gryffindors nearly left me deaf or maybe that was Ron's fault because he had whooped, hugged me and began jumping excitedly.

"We won! We won!"

* * *

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked as Harry appeared from the opposite way of the Gryffindor lockers.

"We won! You won! We won!" Ron chanted, thumping Harry on the back. Even I couldn't keep the smile off my face. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed, and Annie then grabbed Goyle by the shoulders and knocked him out! Neville's out cold too but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right — talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this…"

He pulled us in an empty classroom, and after he made sure no one was inside he told us what he saw after the game. In a hushed voice, he told us how he saw Snape wandering around the Forbidden Forest and had decided to follow him. Harry saw both Snape and Professor Quirrell talking, but by the way Harry told it, it was more like Snape was forcing the timid man to tell him how to get past Fluffy.

"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy — and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus' — I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through —"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.

"Or maybe more sooner," I said quietly.

There was something telling me this was too fishy though. All the evidence appointed towards Snape, and even Hermione had accepted it was probably him.

Then why do I feel as if we had only solved half of the mystery?


	17. I Pledge Momentary Insanity

We were wrong about Quirrell though. A week passed by, and despite he looked thinner and tired, the DADA professor seemed to be holding himself.

Often, the four of us went to the third corridor and put our ears on the door to check if Fluffy was still growling inside there. Snape still acted lovely as always, and so we knew nothing had changed. Both Harry and Ron had tried to cheer up Quirrell by smiling at him and stopping people from laughing at the stutter.

Hermione did neither as she was more worried at the upcoming tests. She started coloring all of her notes and drawing study schedules.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away," said Harry.

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it's an A."

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me…"

"Don't bother," I muttered to them, kicking their shins to stop them from asking.

The teachers though, were thinking on the same lines as her. We couldn't enjoy at all the Easter Holidays because they piled us with too much homework. And it was becoming annoying to hear Hermione mutter on her sleep the twelve uses of dragon's blood. It was like if she was trying to find more uses than Mr. Dumbledore did, and knowing Hermione, she was capable of doing it.

The library once more became our refuge. I was already sick of the place; it was as if it were haunting us every day with the millions of floating books. What I once thought as cool now was annoying.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of one the library's windows. I already was facing one.

It was the first fine day we had in months. The sky was clear of clouds and the cerulean blue was almost tinting with orange and pink. A great prelude for the beginning of the summer if you ask me.

Bored, I began doodling with my changing ink pot and repeated many times the same colors for it to change from blue to yellow to orange. Harry's gift had become a kind of method for me to relax. I already told Hermione I don't study, _I read_. But that hadn't dissuaded her of dragging me away.

"Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?" Ron's voice made me to look up.

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very odd on the library wearing his oversized coat.

"Jus' lookin'," he said in a shifty voice. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," Ron said impressively. "And we knew what that dog's guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St -"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There was a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," Harry put in. I nodded, "Yes, we wanted to know about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy -"

"SHHHH!" Hagrid said again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh -"

"See you later, then," Harry said.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?" asked Harry quickly.

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, looking like if this was his way of sneaking from studying.

He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table with a crazed look. Then again, this place seemed to get out the worst of us.

"Dragons!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_; _From Egg to Inferno_, _A Dragon Keeper's Guide_. "

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him," said Harry pensively.

"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden — anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Harry.

"Of course they are," it was me who spoke. "_Gringotts' Bank_ keeps one on the subterranean tunnels."

"Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you," said Ron. "Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" said Hermione.

* * *

An hour later, Harry was knocking Hagrid's door. All the curtains were closed, making me worry about him. If outside was hot, how could it be inside?

"Who is it?" Hagrid had called, and after we affirmed our identities he let us in, closing the door quickly behind us.

The hut was boiling. The air inside was too much hot that the one outside, making me had problems to breath. And maybe Hagrid was insane, because there was blazing fire in the grate. I politely declined his offer of tea and stoat sandwiches.

"So — yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Harry. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid frowned at him.

"O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts — I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched slightly into a smile. "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really," Hermione went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Hermione while I just smirked.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let's see… he borrowed Fluffy from me… then some o' the teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout — Professor Flitwick — Professor McGonagall —" he ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell — an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"_Snape_?"

"Yeah — yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

I looked at the others, changing expressions of apprehension. I knew they thought that if Snape was protecting the stone, then must have known what traps the teachers had set. That Quirrell's was the one he still didn't know.

It sounded so right, but that feeling of something missing keep nagging me on the back of my head.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy. Aren't you, Hagrid?" said Harry anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Harry muttered then said loudly. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Harry, sorry," said Hagrid. I noticed him glance at the fire. In the deep of the flames, underneath the kettle, was a black egg.

"Hagrid — what's that?"

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's — er…"

"Oh God!" I gasped, already knowing what Hagrid's guilty look meant. "Is it a dragon egg?"

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library —_Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_ — it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on I em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here — how ter recognize diff'rent eggs — what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

He looked very pleased with himself, but I didn't. And Hermione was staring horrified all around the small hut.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden_ house," she said unsure, but the gamekeeper paid her no attention. He was merrily humming as he stroked the fire.

* * *

It was not only homework, the Sorcerer's Stone, and the arriving tests that worried me now.

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed, as evening after evening we struggled through all the extra homework we were getting. Hermione had even started making study schedules for Harry and Ron, and I could tell it was driving them nuts. Hell, it was driving me nuts!

"But Hermione, I don't study, I read!" I exclaimed one breakfast time.

"It's the same!"

"No it isn't!" I argued. "Study means to just try to keep repeating words and words in your head, and it only manages to tire you! Reading on the other hand just means you read, and it keeps burned in your head if you do it once in a while."

"Annie, that's a very ridiculous excuse for you to say and skip studying!" Hermione exclaimed. "Ron and Harry had already got a hang of the schedules I gave them."

"No, we didn't," Ron grumbled through a mouthful but she didn't even glance at him.

I sighed exasperated. "Look Hermione, let me prove you I can do it this way. If I fail by the end, then you have all the liberty to tell me what to do and arrange my schedule life for the next six years, okay?"

Her face immediately brightened like if Christmas had come again.

The familiar screech of owls didn't perturb me a bit like before. Both Hedwig and Otto soared down in front of me, considering that Harry was sitting on my left.

Like the last time, Natasha only had sent a small note with a quote.

This time though, it left me a little preoccupied.

_Beware of the Dragon. Beware of who you trust. Nothing is what it looks like, even though everything is pointing that way._

My suspicions were just affirmed by my old redhead friend. Although it had been unconsciously, or not, she had made me remember that I was wary of the situation we just found ourselves. Like _beware of the dragon_… how did she know about that? If so, then why didn't she even warn me to not do anything stupid?

I felt something nudging my ribs and swiftly turned my head, finding myself staring straight into emerald eyes. I immediately dropped my gaze, willing myself to not blush but I just found the reason Harry had called my attention. In a small piece of parchment, only two words had been written with Hagrid's horrible writing.

_It's hatching. _

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut, and I downright agreed with him. Anything to not let loose another plant was a great excuse to leave. But of course, Hermione wasn't too keen to skip a class.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing –"

"Shut up!" Harry and I whispered.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? I didn't like the look of satisfaction on git's face.

Pointlessly arguing, Hermione agreed in the end to skip Herbology. I almost did a happy flip, but for the sake of my comrades (and mostly myself) I didn't dare to do that in front of her. Hiding our trowels inside Greenhouse 1, we ra down to the edge of the Black Forest towards Hagrid's home.

Hagrid himself looked as if he would burst of happiness any second.

"It's nearly out," he said giddily as he ushered us inside. Not waiting to even see if someone was around, he closed the door and joined us around his table where the Black egg trembled. It already had deep cracks on it and I could almost hear a strange clicking sound from inside it. It mostly reminded me of a camera.

Warily, I dragged my chair a little away from the table. Even though I was excited like them, I wasn't too keen to watch as closely as they were.

Then there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon rolled out of the broken pieces of his shell and stared at us with his curious golden eyes. They compensated his appearance because he wasn't exactly pretty; he reminded me of one Mrs. Darcy's old pair of umbrellas she had tossed in the back of my attic years ago.

The dragon's wings were two sizes bigger than its own skinny body, and he also had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns. His bulging gold eyes also had an orange hue on them.

I almost cooed at the baby.

_Almost_.

The baby sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout, a few which fell at the ends of Hagrid's beard. Huffing, he patted the mat of black hair quickly with his gloves.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured as though he hadn't been almost burned. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"We finally lost him," I whispered incredulous.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face — he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains — it's a kid — he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Dread filled me as he turned around and looked at us with an angry expression.

"Malfoy."

* * *

Although it was strange for me, I began to feel nervous all next week. I kept wondering if Malfoy had already told someone about the dragon, but the smirk he showed us each time we saw him made me think he was just waiting for the perfect moment to bust us.

The rest of our free time was spent on Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid concerned. "He's too little. He'd die."

I looked at the corner, were the dragon glared at us. It was more likely I would die first than that creature; it had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him too busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

It perturbed me when the dragon=s yellow eyes directly went toward me. If he was glaring, I wasn't sure. But I was hoping he didn't consider me as today's dinner.

"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in Harry's ear.

"Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I — I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Harry suddenly turned to Ron. "Charlie." he said.

"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"

I rolled my eyes.

"No — Charlie — your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that we could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

* * *

The next week went too quickly for my liking. We had decided to take each a time to help Hagrid take care of the dragon.

Wednesday night was Ron's turn, and Harry, Hermione and I waited for him to arrive in the common room. I was doodling again, this time the dragon itself.

"Red," I said loudly. Doodling the dragon's shape with red was a bit of an improvement for me, seeing as I was trying to draw it by memory.

The common's room portrait moved open and in came Ron, cursing under his breath as he held his hand, which was hidden by the sleeve of his robe. Looking at both sides of the room, he strutted over at our corner and sat beside Hermione.

"It bit me!" he hissed, lifting his sleeve. I winced, echoing Harry's and Hermione's sentiments by my muttered "Ew!"

His hand was palpitating, I was sure. The little teeth marks had left an ugly purple bruise that was yellowing on the outside. Blood covered all of his fingers, and as he moved them, I realized the scarlet substance had become sticky. Closing my eyes briefly, I grabbed a nearby handkerchief and handed it to him.

"Clean it," I told him, not looking at the wound at all. I was being rude and a little egoistic, but blood had always disgusted me since I was little.

"I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week," Ron groaned. "I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" said Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer!" The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

_Dear Ron, _

_How are you? Thanks for the letter — I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark. _

_Send me an answer as soon as possible. _

_Love,  
Charlie _

We looked at one another.

"We've got the invisibility cloak," Harry spoke. "It shouldn't be too difficult – I think the cloaks big enough to cover two of us and Norbert."

Relaying the last days with Norbert, we all agreed quickly with Harry. Anything to get rid of the dragon – and that meant the two of them, Malfoy included.

But by next morning, an obstacle appeared. Ron's wound had turned worse than we had first thought. Believe, I had never yelled so loud in my life before – not even when we faced Fluffy. His hand had swollen twice its size and amount of blood had certainly made me swoon.

It was quickly decided that I was the chosen one to carry our red-head friend to the Hospital Wing, come up with a gullible story to tell Madam Pomfrey, and while I'm on it, ask for a dizziness potion.

"I was practicing a potion," I told her as she inspected Ron's hand, which had turned a nasty shade of green. "And Ron was there when it suddenly exploded. The whole thing fell on him."

"What were you using, Miss Barton?" Pomfrey asked as she eyed me from the corner of my eye.

"Oh… I don't remember," I winced. "But I think I mixed two things to create poison… or something?"

It had sounded like a question. I was sweating like a pig as Madam Pomfrey alternated between looking for a soothing potion and staring at me as if telling me she didn't believe a single thing of what I said, but she seemed to accept this.

Around sometime, Malfoy came and asked Madam Pomfrey to let him see Ron. I gritted my teeth when he scathingly threatened us to tell the matron the real reason of the wound. Having pulled out my wand, I pointed it at his forehead and said slowly to go to hell. Raising his arms, he grabbed one of Ron's books and disappeared.

Almost at the end of the day, both Hermione and Harry came to see how Ron was.

"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me —

"We told her it was because a potion went awry," I piped.

"–I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

"If you ask me, I think he deserved more than a black eye," I scoffed, crossing my arms around my middle.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no oh no — I've just remembered — Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

I closed my eyes.

This was beginning to get more and more complicated than we thought.

* * *

Harry and Hermione had decided that it would be best if I stayed in the common room the night we were to say good-bye to Norbert. Snuggled up close to the fire, I waited for their return with good news that Norbert had gotten to Charlie safely. But after a while, I got a strange sick feeling in my gut. What if something happened?

"Annie!" Neville's frantic voice whispered to me in the darkness of the common room.

"Wha'? Neville? Where are you?"

"Here!" He replied, showing himself to be standing pretty much right behind me.

"What's up?" I asked, taking note of the worried look on his face.

"I overheard Malfoy, he knows about the dra-dragon. He's sent Filch on them. We need to warn Harry and Hermione!"

"Shit," I hissed. This wasn't good, not at all. Malfoy probably had gone to McGonagall by now. "I'm going to find them then." But when I went to the portrait, Neville was already hot on my trail.

"Wait! I'll go with you!"

"No," I said instantly. "No, no, and no! We already have a big problem here and if you get involved, it's only going to get nastier than it is!"

"But Annie, _we_ need to warn them! Right now – and I want to help you."

The earnest look on his face made me crack. Cursing silently at my luck, I grabbed his hand and made a dash out of the common room.

"Fine then.!" I snapped. "But I warn you, whatever happens, whatever Harry says – don't believe it. We're going to be lying here if this doesn't work out well. We'll deny everything related to the dragon – and it's possible we are going to lose points. Understood?"

Pale and teary, Neville nodded.

We kept running around. The hallways were too dark for me to see anything, and Neville was worse; his hand had turned sweaty, and as much as I wanted to let go and clean on my robes, I didn't. What if I lost him?

At some point though, we both turned down a corridor and saw that a T path with torches. Relief flooded through me and I hauled Neville there.

it was then that I noticed and heard the footsteps echoing from that way, that it was too late. We came face-to-face with Professor McGonagall hauling Malfoy by his ear. Both of them fell silent as we stared at each other.

Had this not been grave enough, I would have laughed loudly.

"See! I told you! Barton is here! She was going with Potter and Granger to the dragon!" I was slightly panicked. Neville started to sweat again, but this time in panic too.

We didn't know what to do. I didn't even try to tell an excuse. And worst of all, Malfoy didn't stop eyeing me and showing off his triumphal smirk.

"Do you both have anything to say, Barton, Longbottom?" said McGonagall with fury in her eyes.

I took a deep breath.

"Yes, Ma'am. I would like to pledge momentary insanity on Malfoy's behalf."


	18. Forbidden

**Dear Readers,**

**I just discovered that the SOPA law is on full hang once again. I wasn't member on fanfiction the first time it happened, but now I dare say, I am beginning to be panicky. I am truly a bit of a stuck-up person, and when I read what SOPA meant, I went into full panic mode. Not a bright afternoon.**

**What I want to say is that there's a high possibility this time the law will be approved, and if that happens, I want to say something beforehand. I love fanfiction; it helped me at first to learn how to speak English and now, it lets me express what I want. I read what others think. The government might say that we are stealing the original author's ideas, but I think that's an exaggerated answer. We, as writers, add our own style in our way of adding a character. Many stories may repeat the same over and over, yet, one can notice that feature of the author.**

**I won't stop writing until an answer comes out of this conflict. I want to be a free writer as long as I can.**

**Sorry to all those who I may have bothered in some way.**

**On a happier note, I have been adding sneak peeks of _Just One More Lie_ in my tumblr page to whoever wants to read them.**

**NOTE: Reading this again, I realize I may sound a little bipolar. -mentally shrug- Oh, well.**

**This is crossMIRAGE19 off. Write ye'all soon.**

* * *

"I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves_."

I looked down at my shoes. They hadn't been shiny since… I don't know, maybe the last year.

No one answered Professor McGonagall back. Neville had been smart enough to not open his mouth, and had just smiled sheepishly at both Hermione and Harry the moment Filch entered with them.

I didn't dare to open my mouth again. McGonagall didn't like it when I tried to convince her that Malfoy had heard one of my "stories". I told her I liked to invent tales of whatever came to my mind, or when I specifically doodled. It was believable, and she looked like if she was going to accept it. But then Malfoy opened that big mouth of his and demanded to know why Neville and I were out of bed.

My voice had failed just like it was doing now.

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You, with Barton's help, created some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get Draco Malfoy out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too? Or that Miss Barton had the gall to went too far and make him come out of bed?"

I glared at Malfoy. It was either looking down or facing McGonagall – I pretty much didn't want to have my head bowed. I was going to stand tall, and face whatever came. Even our Professor's wrath.

I looked up at Neville. He seemed more teary than hurt. I mentally sighed in relief. I had forewarned well.

"I'm disgusted," said Professor McGonagall. "Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. Miss Barton," I looked at her, "You have disappointed me very much. I thought that you were more mature for your age. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All four of you will receive detentions — yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous — and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"Fifty?" Harry gasped.

"Fifty points _each_," McGonagall corrected him making me wince.

"Professor — please —"

"You can't —"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

_Two hundred points lost_. I mused about it as we returned to Gryffindor Tower. Neville had gone to bed very quietly, Harry following behind. I knew that, even though he knew we weren't lying, that he was dreading what tomorrow would bring.

Now, how could we make up for this?

Hermione sobbed quietly on her bed, the curtains pulled aside. I was almost sure she was muffling her cries with a pillow.

Me however, just went to change my clothes and laid them gently atop of my trunk. I placed my white Nikes beside them, and shoved the old black pair of shoes under my bed. If I was going to face the House of the Lions, I sure was going to get all the luck I had left.

* * *

From being the most idolized student on Hogwarts, Harry was the number one hated by all the students. Gryffindors sneered at him as he went by the corridors and when we returned to the common room, all of them turned to give us their backs.

The memory of the first day still makes me grit my teeth in pure disgust at their actions. The Ravenclaws, I could understand, and even the Hufflepuffs were explainable, but our own House? For the first time since the first day on the castle, I regretted had chosen Gryffindor as my home.

Both Neville and Hermione couldn't stand the spiteful glares they gave us. Shunned by the silent treatment, Hermione had stopped participating altogether and didn't try to change that.

Since that morning, I began to do something no one expected.

I became a know-it-all. Or like Ron said, Hermione's doppelgänger.

Every single time some Professor asked something, I quickly raised my hand and answered the question right. It won us five points each time, but it was slowly refilling as the first week of our punishment went by. And taking advantage that the exams were right around the corner, I began to study more for Potions and Herbology.

But then, Fred and George Weasley did a prank that lost them both fifty points… the ones _I_ had won in three days.

"_You_!" I hissed spitefully that afternoon in the common room. "_All of you_, are such hypocrites. You shun Harry, your so called _Golden boy_, because we lost two hundred points that day. Well, I don't see any of you trying to regain them back! And now, the points I had won were lost because of you stupid pair of dimwits!" I yelled, pointing at the twins. "You Gryffindors are starting to get on my nerves. I had ignored the way you act as the such arrogant prats you're, but this, _this_ is the last straw! I am ashamed to say I belong to a House full of idiots, dimwits and hypocrites! You're no better than Slytherin! AT ALL!"

From then, I started to being picked on.

I often laughed about their lame ways of doing it whilst studying with the trio. Part of me _did_ crack each time I was pranked by the Weasley twins, when the Slytherins clapped at my friends in an obnoxious way, when the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs shoved me by the shoulder as I tried to not get late to McGonagall's class…

It was the Orphanage all over again.

But I was going to fight this time. I wasn't going to let them think I was easy to break. If they though so, then they all had been wrong.

* * *

We were on the library studying. My disgust for the place had suddenly disappeared with all this drama going on. Hermione was testing Ron on his knowledge on Astronomy whilst I memorized each step of the next potion we would do down the dungeons.

At that moment, Harry came into the library.

"What happened?" I asked as he sat across me. "You look like a kicked puppy."

"Annie, let him talk!" Hermione scolded gently. Ron snickered.

"Really mate, what's the matter?"

It worried me that Harry was looking quite serious as he told us what he saw. He had heard Quirrell sobbing on an empty classroom, giving up against Snape as he was threatened a last time. With all the dragon drama, I had completely forgotten about the stone.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell —"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Hermione.

"But what if he already knows how to get past him?" I reminded her.

"I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog," said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding us. "So what do we do, Harry?"

"Go to Dumbledore," Hermione intercepted before he could answer. "That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no proof!" said Harry. "Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor — who do you think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him –"

"I don't hate him," I said dryly. "I'm not particularly fond of him, that is." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked," he continued. "Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining."

"And it's not like if anyone is going to believe us by now," I added, remembering the foul attitudes of the Gryffindors. Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around —"

"No," said Harry flatly, "we've done enough poking around."

* * *

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Hermione, Neville and I at the breakfast table. They all said the same:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight._

_Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Hermione and I shared a look with Harry and Neville. With everything that has happened lately, I had forgotten about our detention. Hermione looked down at her porridge sadly; she believed we deserved this punishment.

At eleven o'clock that night, we said good-bye to Ron in the common room and went down to the entrance hall with Neville. Filch was already there — and so was Malfoy. I couldn't help but smile as I remember how he had indignantly spluttered at Professor McGonagall when he told him that he had lost fifty points for his House and won detention, too.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading us outside.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he said down on the way, leering at us. I didn't pay him attention. "Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed… Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

I was wondering what we were going to be doing, when I heard Hagrid's voice say, "Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

I sighed absently in relief. We all did (except Malfoy), and Filch must have noticed because he said with a nasty smile, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy — it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

Neville moaned.

"The forest?" repeated Malfoy as he stopped on his tracks. "We can't go in there at night — there's all sorts of things in there — werewolves, I heard."

Neville clutched my arm tightly, making a chocking sound. I rolled my eyes at Malfoy's incredulity.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid came striding out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione, Anne?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, "they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" Hagrid said, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

"He's so creepy," I voiced aloud.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid.

"I'm not going in that forest," he said panicky.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd—"

"—tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on."

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze. I sniggered.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

He led us to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted my hair as we looked into the forest. I shiver ran down my spine.

"Look there," Hagrid said, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" Malfoy asked, and for once, I agreed with him.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid.

"An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."

"I want Fang," said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth. I snorted.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward. So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, Anne an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now—that's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it we reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid took the left path while it was decided that the rest of us would take the right. I watched as Hagrid's looming shadow disappeared under the darkness that surrounded us. I made a silent plead to not find what killed the unicorn.

"Right then. Let's get going," I said to the other two as Fang walked over my side.

"Who died and made you our leader, Barton?" Malfoy sneered. Widening my eyes innocently, I moved away and waved my hand quite ridiculously at the road.

"Oh, I am so sorry _your majesty_. Would you like to be in the lead? The front, you know."

Malfoy raised his nose up at me and turned his head aside.

"Now that we understood, let me remind you Malfoy; any funny business, if you manage to get us in trouble, I swear," I lowered my voice, glaring at him as I did so. "I ain't going to be as merciful as the werewolves. 'kay?"

With wide eyes, he nodded.

I pulled my wand out of my hair and muttered, "_Lumos_."

Instantly, the tip of my wand lightened like a small flashlight.

We walked in silence, eyes snapping to everywhere. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

"Annie, do you think it was a werewolf?" said Neville quivering. He was the most scared of us, and I instantly felt remorse for him.

Just as I opened my mouth to say something, Malfoy spoke.

"Werewolves, a troll, even wild vampires… it could have been anything, Longbottom."

I shook my head as he began to make scary noises. Neville whimpered in fright.

"Oh, shut it you prat!" I snapped. "Neville, as much as it pains me, he has a point. It could have been anything, and we need to find the unicorn quickly before the killer does."

A while later, everything became quiet. We hadn't found any trail of blood or… _anything_. Malfoy long ago had stopped messing around and had fallen silent thanks to my threat. Neville was by now clutching my arm very tightly, and Fang had decided to be glued next to my leg because I had trouble to walk. It was a miracle I hadn't tripped on any random branch.

Then I noticed. It had gone far too quiet.

Malfoy wasn't with us.

I groaned, making Neville let go and almost kicking Fang to distance him a little.

"Oi, Malfoy!" I called loudly. "Where are you?"

I moved around in a circle, pointing my wand at random trees, but he wasn't leaning or hiding on one of them. I hear rustle move, and kept still.

"Malfoy?" I said again, but this time more quietly. I didn't want to attract any more attention on us.

I heard a twig snap behind me and before Neville or I could turn around, Malfoy jumped out at us. I screeched so loudly that sleeping birds flew from their nest and a howl could be heard on the distance. Neville had been worse; he had started crying and with my yell, he had shot out red sparks from his wand.

Malfoy was on the ground, clutching his stomach as he laughed at our reactions. My eye twitched, and before he even could stand up properly, I went toward him and punched him on the eye.

* * *

"What happened?" said Hermione worriedly as she looked over at Neville and me.

"Ask this idiot!" I snapped, pointing over at Malfoy who was clutching his face with a tissue he had under his robes.

Fuming, Hagrid explained what I told him that happened to Harry and Hermione. Harry looked like he wanted to laugh when Hagrid mentioned the part in which I punched Malfoy.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups — Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry, you go with Anne, Fang an' this idiot."

And so, we set off again to the same path, this time with Harry. We walked nearly for half an hour, deeper and deeper into the shadows, until the path was impossible to follow because the trees were too much thick. This time though, we had found a trail of blood and as we went, the spurts seemed to get thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had thrashed around in pain close by.

"Look —" Harry murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy. I faltered behind them and my heart clenched at the sight.

The boys inched closer to get a better look, but I stayed where I was. From my spot, I could perfectly see the dead body of the unicorn. It was so beautiful even though its eyes were void of life. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Just as Harry took a step forward, a slithering sound made us all freeze. A bush quivered, and from the shadows, a dark cloaked figure came crawling like some sort of animal. We stood transfixed as he neared the unicorn's body, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood. I thought I was going to get sick.

"_AAAAAAAAAARGH_!"

Malfoy screamed and bolted out of the place, with Fang close at his feet, leaving Harry and I with the thing that killed the unicorn. The Slytherin had alerted it from our presence and was looking over at us. The hooded thing got to its feet and came swiftly toward Harry, who was hissing.

"Harry, move!" I yelled, speeding over at him and grabbing his arm.

"It hurts!" he gasped, clutching his forehead. Bewildered, I noticed his scar had turned red.

Staggering back, Harry grabbed my arm and we both fell down on the ground. I quickly put my arms around him as the creature leaned closer to us.

Was this the end?

As if someone had felt my distress, I heard the sound of hooves coming from behind us. I looked up in time to see a horse creature jump above us and charged at the monster. The horse raised its front legs and scared off the thing from the clearing. It glided toward the thickest trees and disappeared.

I sagged in relief, leaning against the roots of the tree. Looking up as I breathed heavily, my eyes widened when I saw that the horse wasn't exactly a horse. More like a centaur. He looked young, with blond hair and sapphire blue eyes. His body resembled that of a palomino.

"Are you all right?" said the centaur, pulling Harry first to his feet and then me.

"Yes — thank you — what was that?"

The centaur didn't answer. He was looking at Harry's forehead, exactly where his scar was.

"You are the Potter boy," he said. The centaur then turned towards me and bowed his head slightly. "And you're the heir of the Barton Clan. My kind has always respected your family."

"Um, I – thanks?" I clearly didn't expect that.

"You both better get back to Hagrid," said the centaur, focusing more on Harry. I didn't mind – he kind of scared me a bit with his calmness. "The forest is not safe at this time — especially for you. Can you both ride? It will be quicker this way."

"My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself onto his front legs so that we could climb on his back. Harry helped me on first and clambered on behind me.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Two more centaurs appeared, one with red hair and a beard with a gleaming chestnut body and long reddish tail. The other looked wilder with black hair and a black body.

"Firenze!" The black bodied centaur thundered. "What are you doing? You have two humans on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who both they are?" said Firenze. "This is the Potter boy, and she's the last Barton. The quicker they leave this forest, the better."

"What have you been telling them?" growled the black centaur. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

The chestnut centaur pawed the ground nervously. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he said gloomily.

His moody companion kicked his back legs in anger.

"For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Firenze suddenly reared onto his hind legs in anger, forcing me to grab his shoulders to stay on while Harry wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

Whisking around, I held on tightly on his shoulders as we plunged off the trees, leaving this Bane and the other centaur behind.

I certainly didn't have a clue about what happened, and when I looked back at Harry, I knew he didn't too.

"Why's Bane so angry?" he asked. "What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?"

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry and I to keep our head bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry's question. We made our way through the trees in silence for so long that I thought Firenze wouldn't speak anymore. We were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

"Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," said Harry, looking at me if I knew. I shook my head. "Haven't the foggiest," I replied. "Only that we use a unicorn's horn and their tail hair in Potions and wand cores."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

"But who'd be that desperate?" Harry said. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else — something that will bring you back to full strength and power — something that will mean you can never die. Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course — the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who —"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

Everything then clicked.

"Voldemort," I whispered. "He's back, isn't he?"

Firenze didn't answer.

"The dark one will rise, and there will be a time when true friendship will be tested," he said instead. "Choices will have to be made, and you must remember, Anya Barton, that even when it seems to be so dark, you can turn on the light whenever you want to."

I didn't have time to respond.

* * *

We found Ron asleep in the dark common room. Harry shook him awake and Ron shouted, "FOOL!"

Once we settled, Harry and I took turns to tell them what happened with the unicorn and the centaurs.

"Creepy what Firenze told you, Anne," said Ron weakly as he tried to smile. I didn't return it.

"I know," I muttered. "Firenze should do fortune cookies – don't ask," I added hastily.

Harry didn't seem like he could sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire, still shaking about what happened.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…"

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry ignored him.

"Firenze saved us, but he shouldn't have done so… Bane was furious… he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen… They must show that Voldemort's coming back… Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me… I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"_Will you stop saying the name_!" Ron hissed.

"Snap out of it!" I snapped. "We have more than worry about than a stupid name!"

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

"Stop talking like that," I spoke up, my voice had gone soft. Maybe _too_ much yelling on the forest had weakened my throat. "You're not going to die. Not on my watch, Potter."

He smiled weakly, but it soon fell. Hermione though, said more comforting words than mine.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of, with Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

As I went to bed, I couldn't help but keep repeating Firenze's words over my head.

_True friendship will be tested…_

What will I do by then? What will be the choice I take?


	19. Preparing for the Mission

**I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.**

* * *

_The room was in darkness. _

_I couldn't see anything, but I know I was moving. My own steps echoed loudly in the emptiness. I may have walked for an eternity, but it was worth it, because the next moment I was standing in front of a large doorway. White lights outlined the archway like some sort of enchantment._

_The double doors opened silently, inviting me to come in._

_Reluctant, I did so. There was a small corridor, rounding into another large archway, which looked as old as the castle was. One I I found myself under the archway, I walked down the stairs to a large circular room._

_The moment I walked down the last step, a whooshing sound came from behind me. Mortified, I turned around, watching as the flames danced around me, blocking my path of return,_

_Breathing heavily, I turned on my spot again, this time coming face to face with a mirror._

_For a moment, I saw myself, but my reflection burst into flames and another figured appeared._

_It was the hooded creature from the Black Forest. _

_And on his hand, he held the Sorcerer's stone._

I woke up drenched with sweat on my face. The dream all forgotten

* * *

"Say it," I said airily as I twirled a loose lock of hair around my pinky finger.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione instead. I puffed out my cheeks and looked at her with a slight glare.

We had just done our last exam of the week, History of Magic. Answering about some old batty wizards who invented cauldrons and such weren't exactly my forte.

Since Monday morning a few days ago, it was declared that the exams would begin. Professor Flitwick had made us go into his office to see and test if we could make a pineapple dance across his desk. I successfully managed to make it move like if it was dancing a tango, but somehow, I too managed to make it sing an opera song. Professor Flitwick had clapped his hands excitedly as he squeaked that we all were listening Die Zauberflöte… or it sounded like that. I vaguely remembered Mrs. Darcy's old Gramophone blasting the _St. Louise's_ building with the song. Flabbergasted, I heard as the tiny man announced I had gotten two hundred percent on his test.

Professor McGonagall had watched us turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Mine had turned into a small wooden chest with mouse carvings.

Snape, however, had decided to breathe down our necks while we all tried to make a Forgetfulness potion by the hour. Discreetly though, I had put two pieces of cotton inside my ears to not get distracted by any noise.

Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts were more of a practical exam. It wasn't easy doing Quirrell's, the smell of garlic had me all the class with one hand covering my nose.

Harry seemed to be the worse of us though. He was jumpy all week, and once, when Oliver Wood came to give a message to Professor Quirrell, Harry had jumped on his seat and had pulled out his wand. Acting quickly, I lowered his arm under our des as Quirrell continued his class.

I know he was more worried about the stone than his own grades, but that didn't mean he should be paranoid about it. What we both saw in the forest would never leave my mind, but I had put that particular memory in the back of my head for the sake of my sanity.

Only thing that worried me was Harry's scar. He often was rubbing on it, and I don't know if he had noticed, but it looked like if it was recently cut.

"No more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass after he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. We all were under our favorite tree's shadow near the Black lake, were the Weasley twins and their friend, Lee Jordan, were tickling one of the Giant Squid's tentacles. I wished the squid was evil enough to drag them all under the water; that would certainly be worthy of seeing. "You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

Harry, who had loosened his tie, began to furiously rub his forehead.

"I wish I knew what this means!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting — it's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested as she lazily let the rays of the sun hit her on the face.

"I'm not ill," said Harry begrudgingly. "I think it's a warning… it means danger's coming…"

"You mean _HIM_?" I clarified. "Harry, not to be paranoid or something, but you make it sound as if he was right behind us."

"You both need to relax," grumbled Ron as he lay on his back with a groan. "Hermione's right, Harry. The Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

I scowl tugged at the corner of my mouth but I didn't say anything.

Then, a thought entered my brain.

"Guys, Hagrid wouldn't betray Dumbledore but, what if he did it without knowing? We all know he has a loose tongue."

Harry's eyes widened.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "We need to go and visit Hagrid!"

The rest of us stood up, glancing at his back as he hurried down the lawn.

"Um, what did I say again?" I asked confused, running down to catch Harry.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione panted.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," Harry said, scrambling up the grassy slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"

"What are you talking about?" Ron yelled, but Harry didn't answer as he sprinted across the ground toward the edge of the forest.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, ple –"

"No, we're in a hurry," Harry interrupted Ron. "Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."

I silently cursed.

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head — that's one of the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

"Hagrid, in your conversation, did you talk about Hogwarts?" I said panicked.

"Mighta come up," Hagrid frowned as he recalled the memory. "Yeah… he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after… so I told him… an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon… an' then… I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks… Let's see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home… So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

"And did he — did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked, sounding nowhere calm.

"Well — yeah — how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep —"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

"Oh dear God," I muttered, my eyes widening at how easy Hagrid had been to coax.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" Hagrid blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey — where're yeh goin'?"

Without words left, we turned around and raced back to the castle, ignoring Hagrid as he yelled at us to come back. We ran until we reached the entrance hall, panting I leaned against the nearest wall. Everything suddenly felt so cold and gloomy as I recalled everything that was said on the conversation.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak — it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

I stopped trying to catch my breath. I looked up and down the hall, watching as if there was a painting or something that could tell us where to go. Although I was fond of Mr. Dumbledore, I never asked nor tried to discover where he sleeps.

"We'll just have to —" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you four doing inside?" It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Mr. Dumbledore," I told her, walking up from behind Hermione.

She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"See _Mr_ Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated slowly. "_Why_?"

"It's sort of secret," Harry said. I wished he hadn't, because in a second, McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

"He's gone?" said Harry frantically. "_Now_?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time –"

"But this is important," I insisted gravelly.

"Something you all have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Barton?"

"Look," said Harry, "Professor — it's about the Sorcerer's Stone —"

The Professor clearly didn't expect that. All the books she had carried fell out of her arms, but she didn't kneel to pick them.

"How do you know —?" she spluttered, her cat-like eyes darting between all of us.

"Professor, I think — _I know_ — that Sn— that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore," Harry said.

McGonagall eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor —"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

We waited until she was out of earshot to speak.

"It's tonight," said Harry at once. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we —"

Hermione's gasp made me turn to look at her. She was staring directly at the man in question.

I resisted the urge to groan at his lack of making sound. How much had Snape heard?

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

I stared at him silently as the others did.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile. I decided from now on he shouldn't do that if he didn't mean it.

"We were —" Harry began, but Snape cut him off.

"You want to be more careful. Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

I grimaced at his words. Glancing at the others as we turned to leave, I saw that Harry was rather flushed.

"Be warned, Potter," Snape called. "Any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

He strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to face us.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently. "One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape — wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, Anne, you both better do that."

"Why us?" Hermione asked.

"It's obvious," said Ron. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice, "'Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong –"

"Okay, okay, we get it!" I snapped. "We'll do it. There's no need to exaggerate."

* * *

"Come on!" I called over my shoulder.

I said the password to the Fat Lady ("_Golden Snitch_"), and we both stumbled in out of breath.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" Hermione wailed, making me jump and notice that both boys were here too. "Snape came out and asked us what were we doing, so I said we both were waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and we've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went."

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said. He was pale and his eyes were glittering.

"I don't like that glint on your eyes," I told him bluntly. "It means you are up for something."

Harry nodded, not seeming bothered by my comment at all.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

"You're mad!" said Ron astonished.

"You can't!" gasped Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"SO WHAT" Harry shouted. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you three say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

There was a long silence as he glared at us; his emerald eyes glared fiercely through the round glasses, and I could see the reason why Harry was placed on Gryffindor. He was more than just the boy-who-lived; he was better than all of us, and I was sure this was just the beginning. Even though we all had our differences, I knew from them an on, that I would follow this four eyes boy to hell, if that were to ever happen.

I felt a smirk pull over my lips.

"You're right Harry," said Hermione in a small voice. "You're right…"

"But you didn't need to yell, you know," I said lightly, feeling the smirk transform into a small smile.

"I'll use the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It's just lucky I got it back."

"But will it cover all four of us?" said Ron.

"All — all four of us?" Harry repeated looking confused. I snorted.

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?" said Ron, looking funnily at his friend.

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful…"

"But if we get caught, you three will be expelled, too," said Harry stunned.

Still smiling, I put my hand on his shoulder. I never noticed we both were the same stature until now.

"Face it, wonder boy. You're stuck with the three of us for the next seven years."

"That's it, if we don't die tonight," said Ron.

* * *

That night, no one bothered us as we waited in the common room. Not that I blamed them; I had scared a good deal with my last outburst.

Hermione was on one corner, reading books to try and find useful spells in case of emergency. Both Ron and Harry were pretending to have a conversation about Quidditch. And me? Well, I just was there, sitting on an armchair, waving my wand lazily as I practiced the hand movement of the Stunning and the Full Body-Mind spells.

As Le Jordan was the last one to leave, I watched Ron turn to Harry. He sat up from his seat and ran up the stairs towards the boys' dormitories, and a few seconds later, he returned with his father's cloak folded under his arm.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of us," Harry said as we crowded around him. "If Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own —"

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. I jumped as Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching his toad, Trevor.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry, hiding quickly the cloak behind his back.

I masked my face coolly as Neville stared at us without blinking.

"You're going out again," he stated.

"No, no, no," said Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

"You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."

"I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll — I'll fight you!"

"Neville, get away from that hole and don't be an idiot —"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" Neville snapped at Ron. "I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yes, but not to us," said Ron in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing."

Dropping Trevor in the floor, Neville took a step forward and raised his fists

"Go on then, try and hit me!" he said, his voice wavering slightly. "I'm ready!"

Harry then turned to Hermione.

"_Do something_," he hissed desperately.

With a sad sigh, I stepped forward to face my round-faced friend.

"Neville, I am very proud of you right now, but I've got no choice. Something very important is going to happen tonight and we need to stop it."

I pulled the wand out of my sleeve, instead of its usual place on my head, which I wore into a ponytail.

"I'm really sorry about this, I hope you can forgive me."

I raised my wand.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

I ran to his side and turned him around so he couldn't suffocate. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at me in horror.

My heart clenched tightly.

"Oh, Neville!" I moaned. "I'm _so_ sorry. I promised I wouldn't let you fall."

"What've you done to him?" Harry whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably.

"You're a little scary sometimes, you know that," Ron commented as he glanced down at me. He gulped. "Brilliant, but scary."

I didn't answer. I was too busy placing a pillow under Neville's head.

"I'll explain later," I told him, avoiding glancing at his horrified eyes.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered.

"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.

"You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron as we stepped over him and pulled on the invisibility cloak.

With a last look at Neville's body, we stepped out through the portrait hole, ready to face whatever was on the Third Floor.


	20. A Dangerous Play

Leaving a petrified Neville behind wasn't a good omen for us.

Every single statue we passed by resembled Filch too much for my taste. Jumping a foot up in the air wasn't exactly the right way to walk under a cloak. Then the wind was swooping all the time, which I had confused constantly with Peeves.

At the foot of the first set of stairs, I saw Mrs. Norris sulking on the top.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered, but Harry shook his head. As we walked around her carefully, Mrs. Norris eyes turned towards us, but she didn't do anything to stop us.

From there, we didn't meet anyone else until we reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip. As we tried to climb toward him, a creek sounded, and as I looked down, I saw it had been me. I had stepped on a piece of wood.

"Who's there?" Peeves said as he narrowed his black eyes in our direction. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at down at us.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen," he said wickedly, shutting down a nasty smile.

"Peeves," said Harry suddenly in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

If it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation, I may have outright laughed as Peeves almost fell out of the air. Stumbling in shock, he immediately caught himself in time, hovering a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake — I didn't see you — of course I didn't, you're invisible — forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry deeply. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

With a ridiculous bow, he scooted off to the nearest wall and went through it, disappearing from our sight. I laughed in relief.

"Brilliant, Harry!" Ron whispered, beaming at Harry.

"Must be the first time someone managed to pull one on Peeves," I said, smirking as Harry sheepishly smiled and continued to walk.

It seemed like seconds, but we already were outside the third-floor corridor. I gritted my teeth silently when I noticed that the door was slightly ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "Snape's already got past Fluffy."

"What we're waiting for, then?" I asked, and without waiting response I stretched my hand, but Harry grabbed it before I could open more the door.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now." I pursued my lips.

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," said Hermione.

"We're with you until the end," I said grimly, not looking over my shoulder at him. "Don't you get it? We are in this together, 'kay?"

Slowly and unsure, he loosened his hold, letting his arm fall to his side. Furrowing my eyebrows in grim determination, I pushed the door open.

Even though the door creaked, the sound wasn't heard as Fluffy stood over us. Sniffing the air and growling, the let out a snore, covering the floor with his drooling.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered watching a golden light shining in front of Fluffy

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here goes…"

He pulled out from his pocket a wooden flute (courtesy of Hagrid) and began to play. Harry was off tune, but the dog didn't seem to mind that as his eyelids dropped close in satisfaction. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased — it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warned as we slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. I could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath, which made me silently gag. "I think we'll be able to pull the door open," Ron continued as peered over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!" she shrieked.

"I'll do it," I said whilst rolling my eyes.

"All right," Ron said. I stepped carefully over Fluffy's legs and made my way to the trapdoor. I bent down and grabbed the ring of the trapdoor and pulled as hard as I could. It swung up and was open. I put my head inside without falling, narrowing my eyes at the pure black emptiness.

"What can you see?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing. Everything's too dark inside. We will have to just drop down," I said, coming up from the hole.

Harry suddenly waved his hand at Ron and pointed at himself, still playing the flute.

"You want to go first? Are you sure?" said Ron. "I don't know how deep this thing goes. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep."

Harry handed the flute over. In the few seconds' silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep.

I moved over, letting Harry climb over it. He looked down and started to lower himself until he was hanging on by his fingertips.

"If anything happens to me, don't follow," he said mostly to Ron. "Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?"

"Right," said Ron.

"See you in a minute, I hope…"

And Harry let go, falling down in the darkness. I looked worriedly inside, trying to catch sight of anything that could cushion his fall… or something that very well could be dangerous. A few second later, we heard Harry's voice call from bellow.

"It's okay! It's a soft landing, you can jump!"

Looking at each other, and then back at Hermione, Ron and I huddled together and put our hands next to each other. We waved quite foolishly our hands, but in the end, his was extended, and mine was put into scissors.

Ron scowled while I silently cheered. He leapt through the hole after Harry.

When I heard a soft thump, I swung my legs over the edge.

"See you down there," I told Hermione over my shoulder. Letting out a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let go.

The scream died in my throat as I felt the air whooshing around me. Soon enough, I fell into something soft. I sighed in relief, opening my eyes.

"Glad of you to drop in," said Ron with a smirk. I rolled my eyes, moving my arms a bit. I touched the thing that had cautioned our fall… and it felt too sticky. It was some sort of plant, but I couldn't see very well in the dark.

"Come on, Hermione!" Harry yelled.

The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but Hermione had already jumped. She landed on Harry's other side.

"We must be miles under the school," she said.

"Yippee," I breathed sarcastically.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Ron.

"Lucky!" shrieked Hermione. "Look at you three!"

AS I looked down at my body I let out a shriek. My arms and legs were covered in some sort of black vines with spines on them. These were moving by their own accord, which made me more panicked.

Hermione had gotten away from it and was huddled against a dark wall. She was watching, with a horrified look on her face as Ron, Harry, and I struggled. It seemed the more I moved, the tighter the grip the plant had on me.

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered. "I know what this is — it's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," Ron snarled. I let out an angry humph. The plant had cured around my mouth and it was starting on my neck.

"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" Hermione yelled.

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!" Harry gasped.

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare… what did Professor Sprout say? — it likes the dark and the damp."

"So light a fire!" Harry choked.

"Yes — of course — but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her hands.

"_HAVE YOU GONE MAD_?" Ron bellowed. "_ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT_?"

"Oh, right!" said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames on the plant. In seconds, the black vine started to uncurl from my legs and hands, and I used them to pull it out of my mouth.

"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione," said Harry as he joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face. I massaged my throat carefully.

"Yeah," said Ron, "and lucky Harry doesn't lose his head in a crisis — '_there's no wood_,' honestly."

"What would you have done though?" I croaked. "It was a panicking situation. No one could have been perfect."

I coughed.

"This way," Harry said, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward.

It was eerily quiet as we walked; only the sounds of dripping water could be heard from above us. I could hear my beating heart and harsh breathing; the urge to cough still didn't left.

After a while, the sound of fluttering and clinking reached my ears. I frowned.

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

"Yeah," I nodded. "I actually do."

"Do you think it's a ghost?" Hermione asked.

"No… it sounds lie if they were wings," I said.

"There's light ahead — I can see something moving," said Harry.

We reached the end of the passageway and saw before us a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Ron.

"Probably," said Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once… well, there's no other choice… I'll run."

He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and sprinted across the room. Nothing happened, and he reached safely the door. Harry pulled from the handle, but the door didn't budge. We followed him and helped him tugging at the handle. I even grabbed it with my two arms and gained force by putting my legs on the door. Hermione tried doing the Alohomora charm, but there was no use.

"Now what?" said Ron.

"These birds… they can't be here just for decoration," said Hermione

"It's because those aren't birds!" I gasped, seeing one of them glinting on the dark. "If my eyes don't deceive me, those are keys!"

"Winged keys!" Harry added. "Look carefully. So that must mean…yes— look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

My eyes widened. "How do we know which one is it?" I asked, staring mortified at the hundreds of keys flying around the ceiling.

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one," said Ron as he examined the lock. "Probably silver like the handle."

"And one of its wings must be a bit crumpled," I commented. "If Snape already caught it, that is."

I grabbed one of the broomsticks and kicked off in the air. I wobbled on my seat, but I held my hands tightly on the wooden handle. Taking out a deep breath, I followed the others. I think they had forgotten that _I_ didn't know how to fly; Ron and Hermione had stayed to learn, and for God's sake, Harry is a Seeker. But the moment I looked down, a giddy feeling started to form from my toes up to my head. I was floating. _I was flying! _

_And it felt so bloody well. _But there was no time for distractions. I focused on the task at hand.

I winced as keys started to hit me on the face. I hissed when one of them flew sharply past my head, and felt warmth rolling down my right cheek. I keep trying to search the key, but as my friends, I was often founding myself lost. I reached out to grab one, but it was too quick.

"That one!" I heard Harry call. I looked to where he indicated. "That big one—there—no, there—with bright blue wings—the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

I saw the one he meant and sped off towards it. I saw Ron also speed off to the key, but he crashed into the ceiling and almost fell off his broom.

"Ron!" I yelled.

"Annie, we've got to close in on it!" Harry said to me. "Ron, you come at it from above—Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down—Annie, come at it from the left—and I'll try and catch it. Right, NOW!"

I swooped straight at the key to herd it towards Harry. The key went straight to Harry, who pinned it against the wall, with a crunching sound that reminded me of a breaking bone. I winced sympathetically. Ron and Hermione's cheers echoed around the room.

We all landed and Harry ran up to the door and unlocked it. The second Harry had the door unlocked, the key took off and flew off with the other keys.

"Ready?" Harry asked, but he didn't wait an answer and pushed the door open.

I narrowed my eyes as I tried to see through the darkness. I took a cautious step forward, and then, torches lightened one by one until they reached the door at the end. At first, I thought we were on a graveyard, but as I looked more closely, the statues surrounding us had the form of knights and towers. My eyes widened as I saw we stood behind the black statues and across, were the white ones.

"Holy cricket," I breathed as I saw that the tall statues didn't have faces.

We were actually standing on a giant chessboard.

"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room."

"How?" said Hermione

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

"Oh goodie, just my dream comes true," I mutter sarcastically as Ron walked up to a black knight and touched its horse. The chess piece immediately sprang to life; the horse pawed the ground as the knight looked down at Ron.

"Do we—er—have to join you to get across?" he asked. The black knight nodded its head, and Ron turned back to face us.

"This needs thinking about…" he said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of four of the black pieces…"

I silently watched as Ron began to sort out the problem. Although he was not smart in a lot of things, he bested us out in Chess in many ways. I completely trusted him on this one, but I couldn't help but shiver as I noticed that all the white pieces had turned to face us.

"Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess—"

"Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop. Annie, you will be that castle on the king's side, and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight," said Ron.

"How gallant of you, sir Weasley," I said. He grimaced.

"Someone has to be," he replied.

The chessmen seemed to have heard, as a bishop, two castles and a knight turned their backs to the white pieces and walked off. We all moved to our places quickly, and after a moment of silence, Hermione spoke up. "What happens now?" I hoped this wasn't like magic chess, because if it was…

"White always plays first in chess," Ron said, peering across the board. "Yes… look…"

A white pawn had moved forward two squares. Ron began to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. I had faith on Ron's ability, but I couldn't help but get worried. What if in the process some of us got hurt?

When the first chessmen – a knight – was taken, I jumped a foot up in the air. The White Queen had smashed him with such a grace that had me trembling on the knees.

"Had to let that happen," Ron said, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

Every time one of our men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon, there was a huddle of limp black pieces slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry, Hermione or I were in danger. He, himself, darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as we had lost black ones.

It took a long time until it got down to having only a few pieces on each side, and somehow Ron had managed to keep us all alive and well.

"We're nearly there. Let me think – let me think…" Ron muttered to himself.

Slowly, but surely, the White Queen tuned around to face me. Her blank face looked intimidating.

"Ron," I called weakly. " I think I know how it goes."

He raised his hand to his chin, a thoughtful look crossing on his features.

"If that happens… then it's the knight… and the bishop has a clear way," he muttered. Tightening his jaw, Ron turned to me and said, "Are you sure Annie? I could find another way."

"This is the quickest," I said. "but if you agree… there's no other choice. We don't have more time."

"What?" Hermione asked. Ron just stared at me, looking defeated. "Wait a minute," I heard Harry say nearby.

"Yes… I've got to be taken," I swallowed.

"No you can't! There must be another way!" Hermione yelled.

"That's chess! You've got to make some sacrifices!" Ron snapped. "If Annie moves, she'll take her. Then I'll move and that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!"

"But —"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?" I snapped.

"Ron —"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"

"Guys, it's the only way," I said softly.

They didn't answer.

"Ready?" Ron asked and I slowly nodded.

Puffing out my cheeks, I stepped out forward. The White Queen sheltered her long sword and struck towards my head.

The world turned black.


	21. The Girl on Fire

_The circular room was on flames, there was no way to get out, unless you wanted to be burned to crisp._

_The hooded figure was silently looking at me as I looked around nervously, trying to find a loophole. Even though it was supposed to just be a reflection, the person inside the mirror seemed to move by its own._

_The creature – whatever it was – reached up to the hood covering his face. I fidgeted with the wand on my hand as that thing uncovered his face._

_I heard myself scream when I saw who the man under the black robe was._

* * *

Pain. It felt like if I had been knocked out by a troll.

But my eyes snapped open as everything came back. The stone, Fluffy, the Chessboard.

And the mysterious creature we had met on the forest.

The man had revealed himself on my dreams. Discovering that Professor Snape wasn't behind all this façade was somehow relieving. But knowing that it was _him_…

I tried to move my arm, and a groan escaped from my lips. I shut my eyes tightly as a wave of dizziness came by.

"Annie? Annie, are you alright?" a female voice asked. It sounded a bit squeaky and muffled at the same time.

"Ugh… my head _hurts_…"

"After that hit, I suppose it does. It's a wonder you still aren't knocked out," the voice said.

I passed a hand to my forehead, and I frowned. Some sticky substance had found its way from my hairline down to my neck. Opening my eyes briefly, I saw a pair of brown eyes peering down at me nervously.

"Hermione," I groaned. "Help me." I raised my hand.

She frowned. "I'm not completely sure if I should do that – what if your headache gets worse?"

"Doesn't matter," I replied tersely.

She tried to help me sit, but a hiss from me stopped her from continuing.

"See? You can barely breathe!"

"Not relevant right now."

I peered from my eyes around the chamber. The Queen had lost her crown and her sword. Ron was right beside me, still fully unconscious. There was no sight of Harry.

"Mione, what I am going to say may sound a bit mad, but I need to go where Harry is."

"You are wrong. That is being completely out of your mind. You – wait, what are you doing?! Stop moving!"

She hissed the last part, but before she even realized it, I was already standing on my feet. My knees felt a little wobbly and I had to put my hand on the wall to get a steady stance.

"What did you found next? What are the tramps?" I asked thickly, looking down at my body. My old jeans and my brown long-sleeved shirt had been stained with dirt and red. I didn't have to search to know from where it came.

"There's a troll – but he was knocked out, and there's Snape's. He didn't use magic – he wrote a puzzle for the wanderer to discover which was the potion to walk through the flames that trapped us. But Annie, that's not the point –"

"Look, I have a feeling. And it's bad. Harry needs help."

"He asked me to take Ron and you up through the trapdoor and contact Professor Dumbledore immediately," Hermione sniffed.

"Then do those – except the part in which includes me."

"Annie!" she groaned, glaring at my head. "You're still bleeding. That's no state for you to help him! _At all!_"

I looked down at my bushy-haired friend.

"Hermione, look at me," I told her firmly, making her turn to stare directly at my eyes. "Just… trust me on this one – _please_. I don't know how, but what Harry is going to face in there is much more worse than Snape."

Hermione's eyes widened, her head swiveling around to look at the end of the room, where the door leading to the next trap was.

"_He_'s there, isn't he?" she whispered. I didn't answer back.

"Just do what Harry said," I told her quietly. I separated my hand from the wall and slowly, made my way to the other end of the room. "If I don't die, I give you my full permission to yell at me whenever you want to."

Taking a deep breath, I did not look back again. My arm seemed to move itself and next I knew, I smelled the most horrid odor I could have ever come across. I pulled my sleeve up to my nose, fighting back the tears. There was a troll – much more bigger than the last one we met – laying cold on the floor, a big lump on its head.

I wasn't so sure if Harry and Hermione had a do on this, but if they did, well… kudos for them.

I carefully stepped over the troll's legs, not wanting to wake him up or something.

The next door I opened wasn't smelly like this one, and I thanked whoever was up there.

The room was partially empty, except for a table. A lot of bottles of different sizes had been lined together perfectly and there was a piece of parchment beside them.

Once I set a foot inside, black flames sprang across the room, blocking the doorway leading to the next room. Feeling a bit heated, I looked back – there were purple flames too.

It was probably Snape's trap, I mused. But I had no trouble at finding which potions were the good ones.

Hermione had pulled aside two different bottles at the end of the table. A round bottle with yellow liquid was still a little full, but the tiny flask beside it was empty. I figured that had to be the one that had let Harry walk through the black flames.

"You, Snape, really must have thought of everything," I said bitterly, glaring at the small flask.

I began to pace before the black flames. It was as if they were taunting me, calling me foolish and silently laughing at me. That or my head was hit more harshly than I thought.

Low voices could be heard from my spot. They sounded muffled, but I still could recognize Harry's tiny voice from anywhere.

Glaring at the flames, I pointed my wand towards it. What was the spell again?

"Stupefy!" I yelled.

A tiny spark flew out of my wand, but nothing happened. I flagged a bit.

It was the only spell I knew could do some damage, and I grew impatient; I hear the voices rising in their tones.

Panicked, I returned back to the table. I grabbed the tiny flask. Looking through it, my heart swelled.

There, on the very bottom of the crystal bottle, was a small drop of blue substance.

It wasn't much, but it had to do something, right?

I leaned my head backwards, placing the flask on my lips. My eyes crossed as I watched the blue drop slowly slid down to my mouth. Instantly, my tongue felt cold, but I immediately let it slid down my throat.

"NEVER!" I heard Harry yell.

Sure it had gotten pass my system, I jumped right through the black thick flames.

It was too hot. The flames got onto my clothes, but I didn't care at the moment.

I could feel as if every part of me was alive. My arms and legs had gotten the flames more than anything. But they didn't seem to hurt me at all. They didn't seem to burn.

"SEIZE HIM!" I heard a voice wheeze with hate. It was as if an old man were demanding for his change of diapers.

Just as I appeared from the flames, I saw Professor Quirrell take leap at Harry, grabbing his wrist on a painful grip. Harry screamed, and though it all was happening quickly, I caught sight of his scar. It was bleeding and cut raw, as if recently.

I threw myself over to Quirrell. I pushed him with my arms on his chest, and he let out a howl. Quirrell looked up and when he saw me, his eyes widened.

"Barton!" he snarled. This time, he tried to grab my wrists, and somehow, he succeeded.

I yelled. He had more force than I had assumed. My eyes closed involuntarily, and I forced myself to open them.

Instead of looking at Quirrell, I found myself staring over his shoulder. Perched carefully on the middle of the circular room, was the mirror of Erised. I gasped when I saw the reflection. Having been on a rush of adrenaline, I hadn't noticed that Quirrell wasn't wearing his turban.

I wished he did.

On the back of his head, there was a face. It mostly resembled a snake, but I was fifty percent sure it was human. He didn't have a nose; instead, he had small nostrils that only reptiles had. And his eyes… oh god, those eyes were truly terrifying. They were as red as blood, as red as Natasha's hair was. And they held such a hate and hungry that scared me out of my guts.

Trying to move away, I wildly noticed something.

My whole clothes were on fire. And so was my hair. But the flames didn't consume me at all. They just seemed attached - _glued_ - to me.

I heard Harry yelling my name, not Anne or Annie. But _Anya_.

With a sudden force I didn't know I had, I grabbed Quirrell's upper arms. Yelling out a battle roar, I pushed my legs further, making him stumble backwards into the mirror. It broke into smaller pieces when his back collided with it.

I turned around, jogging up to Harry.

"Let's go!" I shouted.

The moment I was going to grab his hand, I felt a sudden invisible force push me aside. My head collided against the wall and I screamed. More blood began to pour down my clothes, and I felt sleepy.

"ANYA!" Harry's voice was shaking, and I heard fast steps turning on my way but there was a loud _bang_, and a body slammed down the floor.

I cried out weakly.

"So foolish, the both of you," said the voice, which I now identified as the thing behind Quirrell's head. "You thought you could save our little friend, Barton? Ha! You're the same as your mother. Risking her life for her friends, knowing that she would die anyways."

I opened my eyes into slits. Everything was blurry. Red, black and orange. Nothing was right…

"It's really disappointing to see whose side you're on," he continued. "With an entrance like that, it would have been rather magnificent to have you at my side. But alas, we can't always have what we wish for…"

The man/snake let out a sigh

"Goodbye, Anya Barton."

Not waiting to see my killer, I dropped unconscious.

* * *

I could feel nothing. My body felt stiff and sore, and my head was hurting too much for my taste. I felt my limbs starting to wake up with me slowly. I deliberately tried to open my eyes, but I felt as if my body had suddenly been petrified five times on a row.

By some strange reason, my face felt a bit warm. Through my eyelids, I could see the light shining on the white ceiling.

_Where I am?_ I wanted to ask to the empty silence.

Last thing I remember was –

My eyes opened.

Quirrell. The stone. Harry.

Everything came back to me on a rush and I started hyperventilating. I got up quickly, and a wave of dizziness came through. I moaned and leaned back on the pillows.

"I wouldn't recommend moving without help, Miss Barton," said a pleasant voice.

Snapping my head to the side, I met a pair of blue twinkling eyes shining in amusement.

Mr. Dumbledore was sitting on the bed next to mine, and relief flooded through me when I saw Harry sleeping peacefully on it.

"How long has he been knocked out?"

"Mr. Potter woke up yesterday in the afternoon, Miss Barton," said Dumbledore. "He's merely taking a short nap."

I nodded. Dreading what I would find, I raised a hand and touched my head. My eyes closed involuntarily when I felt the thick and soft material of heavy bandages wrapped many times around my head, not feeling a single lock of hair out of place. God, this reminded me of a turban, and I certainly didn't want to be reminded of them for a long time.

"How long _I_ have been knocked out?"

"Four days. One more than Mr. Potter," he chuckled. "You hit your head many times, my dear. I thought Poppy was going to have a fit."

"I couldn't help it," I muttered. "And they were only _two_."

"More than enough to cause you a brain concussion!" a woman's voice snapped. Madam Pomfrey walked on, carrying a tray with bottles of different colors. I cringed when she placed the silver tray with a loud _thud_ on the table between Harry's and my bed. "It's a miracle you woke up _today_. I expected you to still be cold by the end of the month."

"You're kidding me!" I gasped.

"Yes, I was," said the matron with an eye roll. "You and your friends should start taking more seriously your health. The four of you could've died!"

"We didn't," I said weakly, but she ignored me.

I had to gulp down some horrendous yellow thing and try to not gag it.

"What about Quirrell and the stone, sir?" I questioned quietly as Madam Pomfrey finally left us (and Harry) alone. "What happened?"

"Quirrell, as well as the Sorcerer's stone, are long gone."

"Then Flamel and his wife are going to die," I noted.

"Oh, you have heard about Nicolas?" said Mr. Dumbledore delighted. "Yes, he and Perenelle will die, but for them, death is only the next great adventure."

I nodded. "Death is only the beginning," I quoted.

Dumbledore beamed.

"Sir… do you know what happened on the chamber? Everything's kind of blurry right now…"

"What's the last thing you remember?" the Headmaster asked kindly.

"Well, I remember drinking a drop of a potion… then jumping through the flames. I was on fire, sir," I said in disbelief. "Somehow, I ended jumping at Quirrell and stopped him before he could harm Harry. And then he tossed me…"

"And there's were you fell unconscious," Mr. Dumbledore said. "I will take from there then. After Harry saw you fall, he grabbed Quirrell's face and at some point, his arm. Harry's touch apparently caused some damage to him, and when I arrived they both seemed to be screaming. Had I not be on time, I believe Harry would have perished."

I gulped, looking down at the boy in question.

"Even though everything seems to happen to him… he's really lucky…" I murmured.

"People like you and Mr. Potter will always stand, Miss Barton," said Mr. Dumbledore. "It was very brave of you to search for your friend while being highly injured."

I shrugged one shoulder, looking down at the white sheets.

"Ron and Hermione would have done the same," I mumbled.

"But they didn't. That's what makes you a very special girl."

I smiled bashfully.

"Sir… what do you mean when you said Harry did some damage to Quirrell?"

"Well Anya, Quirrell couldn't touch Harry. And when he did, his hands were slowly burning and disintegrating."

"That's awful!" I gasped. "How was it possible?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"You must understand Anya, that Quirrell wasn't a man anymore. Touched by greed, he was left vulnerable for Voldemort to take advantage of him."

"You mean to say that, that thing on Quirrell's head… was _Voldemort_?"

Dumbledore raised a hand. "Please, let me finish. Yes, indeed it was Voldemort. As for how Harry was unable to be touched, it was because of his mother. She sacrificed herself for him, and that kind of act leaves a mark. If there's something Voldemort can't understand, it would be love. Even if those who loved us are gone, their deepest feelings never leave us."

"I don't think I understand well, sir," I admitted sheepishly. Mr. Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head a little.

"I didn't expect less. You're still young, but I promise you… you will begin to realize how it works."

"There's something else that bothers me," I muttered sleepily. My eyes were starting to close by their own accord. "Quirrell – or Voldemort – mentioned that my mum died the same way. Because she was too much like me."

"Cassie Barton was an extremely brave woman, Anya," the Headmaster said carefully. "Just like you were tonight. Both your actions may be similar, but you're not her."

"I'm proud of being her daughter," I mumbled, my eyes dropping close. "Even if I don't know how she died… I know she did it for someone's sake."

Guilty of not telling him a proper farewell, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Green eyes opened groggily, staring at me sleepily and slightly confused.

"Morning sleepy head," I greeted.

"Annie!" Harry exclaimed, rising himself with his elbows and scrambling for his glasses. I beamed at his surprised look. "You're alive!"

"Of course I am, you silly! It's going to take you a while for you to get rid of me - but never mind that. You did it! You saved the whole school; Dumbledore already told me what happened, but I would like to hear it from your point of view!"

"Okay, but slow down," he said, blinking at how unusual my behavior was. But he didn't understand; I was happy to see him, and this was the only way I was going to let it show.

As he told me with precision what happened after the chessboard, I noticed how Harry kept eyeing me once on a while, only to later look away when he found my eyes. It looked like if he were searching for something but could not find it. I didn't even ask him why he did it, as he later retold the part in which I had jumped to the chamber.

"I though the place was setting in fire," said Harry. "But then the fire turned into a small figure – and I saw you. Your face and your hands seemed to be the only ones to not have flames. I thought you were burning, but I saw you alright."

I sheepishly scratched the bandages on my head. "Yeah, amazing wasn't it? I only drank a small drop, but it was enough to protect me from dying."

Harry shook his head and continued his tale.

By the time he had finished, an hour had passed by. Both of us were eating the candies he had received and I was laughing my head off when he told me that Madam Pomfrey had caught the Weasley twins and hexed them for trying to smug in a toilet seat by a second time.

A loud knock interrupted our talk, and expectantly, Harry turned to see as Madam Pomfrey walked up to the oak doors.

"Oh no! Not you two again!"

For a wild moment, I thought she was speaking to the Weasley twins, but a high pitched voice spoke.

"Please Madam Pomfrey," Hermione Granger's voice rang through the infirmary. "We've been dying to see them! Just a few minutes would be enough –"

"Absolutely not!" and the door was closed in their faces.

"Why don't you let them inside?" I asked.

"You and Potter, Barton, need to rest," said the Madam strictly.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded. "Just let us talk to them for five minutes!"

"Absolutely not," Pomfrey repeated.

"Ow, come on Ma'am," I groaned. "You let Professor Dumbledore get in, _twice_. I don't see how talking to our friends will injure us."

"That was the Headmaster, but it's quite different. And if you keep talking like that, I am sure you will get more than just a headache," the woman grumbled.

"You hurt me deeply, Poppy," I said, mockingly putting a hand on my chest.

Madam Pomfrey scowled.

"A long time ago, two different students tried doing the same, and you know what? It didn't work. Not a bit. You and Potter need rest, and that's final."

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything," said Harry quickly, leaning back on his bed with a thud. It was quite funny, seeing as we both were sitting on the same spot and he had somehow ended sprawled on my thighs.

"Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey…" I said. "Look at those puppy eyes! I'm going to be the one to suffer the consequences later. _Pleeeeeease_?"

"Oh, very well," she snapped. "But _five_ minutes only."

And she let Ron and Hermione in.

"_Harry_! _Annie_!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him, but she seemed to stop herself at the last minute, and instead, flung them around myself. I grunted.

"Easy there! I don't want you to rip off my head, thank you very much!"

Hermione scowled and said, "I should be doing that! _What did I told you before_? It was very stupid of you –"

"Come on Hermione," Ron cut her off. "Give her a break. I think you will make her have a headache. But really, the whole school is talking about it. What _really_ happened?"

Harry told the whole story again that day. But contrary to me, Ron and Hermione were a good audience. There were gasps, shocked exclamations, curses at Voldemort and Quirrell, another yell from Hermione directed at me, then a scream I told her what was under Quirrell's turban, etc.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that — what was it? — 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

"Nah, actually, I think the Flamels got a very well deserved rest," I said.

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry.

"Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "And after Annie went to search you, I brought Ron round — that took a while — and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall — he already knew — he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione started angrily, "if he did — I mean to say that's terrible — you could have been killed."

I bit my lip thoughtfully.

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…"

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly. "Listen, you both got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course — you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you Harry— but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT" she said firmly.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey let us go to the feast the next day. She took off my bandages and only had let on a few gauzes. Also, she had carefully braided my hair at my request. I did not want all the gazes on my head while I ate.

Even so, as Harry and I walked into the Great Hall, heads turned to us and there was a sudden hush. But in a few seconds, everybody started talking at once. Taking a seat across Neville Longbottom, I turned to see around.

The hall was decorated by green and silver banners with the Slytherin crest. No wonder why all those snakes looked incredibly smug.

Five minutes later, Mr. Dumbledore arrived and the babble of chatter died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. From my seat, I could Malfoy banging down his goblet on the table.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

"First — to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"

I perked up as Ron went purple on the face.

"… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house thirty-five points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. I heard Percy telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

I gently nudged him on the side, a disbelieving smile breaking on Ron's face.

"Second — to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house thirty-five points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; it was very likely she had burst into tears.

"Third – to Miss Anya Barton… for putting herself on harm's way for the sake of her friends, even though she was highly injured, I award Gryffindor house forty points."

I felt my mouth opening as the Gryffindor table broke into a louder applause. I started to grin slightly, forgetting that I was mad at my own house for this very same thing.

"Fourth—to Mr. Harry Potter…" said Dumbledore. "For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

The noise was deafening. All of the houses clapped and cheered as Harry bashfully looked up at the staff table.

"We're tied with Slytherin!" Hermione shrieked.

As if he had heard her, Mr. Dumbledore had raised his hand and all the clapping stopped.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

"YES!" I yelled, pumping my fist high on the air. At the same time, Ron had stood up and in his excitement, he didn't notice that he was hugging me as he jumped up and down.

I didn't care. I was smiling too much too really care if all the population of Hogwarts were watching us. Neville had disappeared under a pile of people hugging him in glee.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

* * *

Two days after that excellent feast, the exam results came. Both Harry and Ron had gotten excellent marks, and Hermione of course, got the highest grade of all.

Me, well, I could say I was proud of how I did it. My Potions marks weren't pretty (though they weren't as abysmal as Neville's) and Herbology was a bit higher than that. My only consolation was my Charm marks, which had bested Hermione's and everyone else's.

And before I knew it, I found myself staring at my empty space. All my things were already packed on my trunk, and Hermione was waiting downstairs with the boys. Feeling crestfallen, I turned on a circle on the middle of the dormitory, glancing at each bed and their initials.

Hogwarts had become a place on which I could be myself; the place that I had found friends in.

And I was going away from it.

The summer vacations seemed to long for now, but my hope at returning increased as Otto soared through the window.

"What's the matter hun'?" I muttered to him, stroking with a finger at his feathery chest. "Already missing me? Don't worry; I will return before you know it."

"Anya, come on! We're going to miss the train!" I heard Hermione yell.

I sighed.

"How 'bout a last ride with me?"

* * *

"Annie, you should let him go," said Ron.

I scowled at him. "Don't you think I already haven't tried? _He_ hasn't stopped tearing my jacket; mind you, my only nice jacket!"

"I think he wants to go with you, Anya," Harry said, smiling as the old owl cooed at him.

"Is it allowed?" Hermione asked. I shrugged.

"Dunno, and I don't want to risk it," I raised my arm. "Come on, Otto. We're going to return you to Hagrid."

The bird understood perfectly what I said. The next moment, before we all knew it, he had extended his wings and had jumped to where Hedwig had been placed.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" I groaned, ignoring the laughs of Hermione and Ron.

"You've gotten yourself a partner for this summer, Barton," Harry chuckled.

I smiled sarcastically at him.

"Now you have no excuse to not write to me, Potter."

* * *

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

"I guess they forgot about all the points we lost," I said, glancing back at the kids running to their parents.

"We're till famous, especially Harry," Ron grinned.

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," Harry sighed.

"Come one, cheer up," said Ron. "You can come and stay this summer at my house. All three of you – I'll send you an owl."

The four of us passed through the gateway together. A small voice squealed.

"There he is, Mom, there he is, look!"

It was a small redheaded girl with blue eyes. If I recalled well, she was Ron's younger sister, Ginny Weasley. But she wasn't pointing at Ron.

"Harry Potter!" she gushed. "Look, Mom! I can see —"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point," said a plump woman with the same red hair as her sons,. She had this kind face you couldn't help but like.

"Busy year?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Very," said Harry.

"It was," I agreed. "Thank you for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley. It was delicious."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear," said the woman kindly.

Otto suddenly squeaked, and ruffling his wings, he soared excitedly towards a familiar scarlet haired woman. Even in the heat, Natasha Rosenberg never stopped wearing black; she wore a green pair of heels, I thought relieved.

"Hello darling," she cooed at Otto. "It's been too long."

"Are you talking to the owl? Or did you meant that at me?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha smirked. "I was talking to the owl, but don't worry. I haven't forgotten you that quickly." Her smirk turned into an accusatory frown. "What did I tell you about getting hurt?"

"That wasn't my fault!" I said hastily. She hummed, not believing any word.

"We'll still talk about it later, young lady."

I rolled my eyes.

"Hello, I'm Molly Weasley," said Ron's mum as she offered a hand to Nat. "Ron's mother."

"Natasha Rosenberg," Nat replied, smiling and shaking at the suddenly shocked woman.

"Rosenberg? Are you, perhaps, _Thea_ Rosenberg?"

"I go by my full name by now," said Nat tersely. "But yes. I'm Thea Rosenberg. And not to sound rude or anything, but I would love if this meeting keeps private between us for now."

"Ah, yes – yes, of course!"

As this passed, I turned to my friends.

"She's the lady I talked about. The one I met on St. Louise's," I said. "Well, it seems is time to go."

I hugged Hermione first.

"Stay in touch," I told her.

Next was Ron, who I only shook his hand on an odd way.

"Try to owl me about that invitation of yours," I said. "I can't wait to see your home."

Ron smiled awkwardly. "No problem."

And last, was Harry. I sighed exasperated.

"Try to not kill yourself," I told him before hugging him briefly.

"No promises," Harry said cheekily.

I shook my head.

"Bye guys!" I waved at them, turning eagerly towards where Natasha and Otto where waiting.

Natasha took the handle of the carriage, setting off towards the entrance doorway.

"So, what do you think about them?"

"Who?"

I rolled my eyes again. "My friends of course!" I said, as if it was the most obvious thing on the world.

For a moment, I could swear Natasha's eyes had changed to black, but I accidentally blinked, and I was staring at her blue-green eyes again.

_It was probably my imagination_, I told myself.

Natasha smiled. It was this sort of strange smile; it was sad, but also happy.

"I think…" she stroked Otto's wings gently. "I think this year was only the beginning of your friendship. With friends like yours, everything can happen."


End file.
